《Devil Dust》


 Bridle Suite

    Princess Genevieve sat still, a picture of cold, weighty stoicism, while the handmaid appointed by her husband-to-be dutifully powdered her face.


    "Do try not to pout so much, Your Highness," the maid said, her voice so gratingly upbeat. "It''s supposed to be a happy occasion."


    With her first intentional movement in over five minutes, Genevieve turned her head towards the hulking metal guard posted by the door. The soft whirring hum it made even while idle filled the small dressing room. The walls around it were covered in fine drapery emblazoned with the red-and-gold emblem of Gryst, a tight, winding spiral with spikes protruding from its outermost curve. Their thick fabric muffled any noise coming from outside, and in isolation that uncanny buzzing grew more oppressive as the moments trickled by.


    After too long a moment Genevieve ripped her eyes away from the thing and made herself stare forward into the mirror. It wasn¡¯t any more reassuring. Her hair had been dyed a bright blonde, and for all the praise she used to hear for her delicate features, the way they had done her up, exaggeratedly pale with cheeks rosier than her father''s thorn garden, went so far beyond reason that it almost felt like parody. The face that looked back from the glass was closer to a porcelain doll than a person. And it certainly wasn¡¯t her. "Am I not entitled even to my own feelings?" she protested, letting her voice come out as bitterly as it wished, asserting her own existence in whatever small way she could manage.


    "Of course you are, Highness," the handmaid said, in the resigned tone people used to placate irritable nobles. "More than any of us regular folk, I imagine."


    Genevieve dug her fingers into her thighs, knuckles turning white. "I would renounce my title and live on the streets if that would bring me my freedom."


    "You don''t want to live on the streets, Your Highness." The maid took a small brush to Genevieve''s eyes, lining them thin and black.


    "I don''t want to marry that man," Genevieve replied. She kept her eyes open and still, just barely resisting the urge to make the maid''s life more difficult as an act of petty rebellion.


    The handmaid frowned, and Genevieve could see the wrinkles of concern forming around her eyes in the mirror. "Then I guess it''s too bad that isn''t an option for ya." She sighed and brought Princess Genevieve up to her feet. "Whether you want to or not, I gotta get you in the dress. Not like I have a choice in that neither."


    "What''s your name?" Genevieve asked as she was brought across the room.


    "Eleanor, Your Highness," the maid answered diplomatically. She was pink-skinned, middle-aged at a guess, and a little on the short side, but that didn''t take away from the matronly authority she carried. Her wavy chestnut-brown hair was trimmed carefully, and her curvy figure managed to make even the plain workmanlike dress she wore into something fetching. "It''s an honor to serve you, Princess."


    Every estate Genevieve ever visited had a maid like her: kind and warm, but forceful enough to strong-arm royals like her into brief, localized deference. She was being diplomatic right now, feeling Genevieve out to determine if she was going to be a problem. But a friendly rapport would make things a lot easier. It was best to be sincere and try to break the ice.


    "And it¡¯s an honor to be served by you, Eleanor Your Highness." Genevieve allowed herself a moment to smirk, but her expression soon fell again. "You don''t need to flatter me. I''d rather you be honest. You have no idea how conceited I feel when the nobles insist their staff worship the ground I walk on."


    "If it''s honesty you want?" Eleanor relaxed her shoulders. "You wanna be here less than I do, and you¡¯re not being too much of a pain in the ass about it.¡± She carefully removed the pins holding an impossibly elegant white wedding gown in place on its dress form. ¡°I appreciate that, believe it or not."


    "I''ve been tempted a few times," Genevieve admitted. "But it wouldn¡¯t do any good. It''s not like you''re one of the people I''m mad at."


    "Well, I¡¯m grateful for that. But I couldn''t much blame you if I was, could I?" Carefully, carefully, Eleanor picked up the dress and held it up against Genevieve''s front. It was an ornate thing, with precisely detailed, delicate gold trims and dense layers of sheer white fabric. It lacked, however, the long train one would normally expect on an extravagant wedding gown. Instead it simply stopped at the floor, precisely fitted to hang just the barest fraction of an inch above the ground¨Ca concession, Genevieve assumed, to the dusty, rocky land of Gryst that would instantly ruin any fine fabric dragged across it.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Put your arms up, dear," Eleanor said. Genevieve complied. "I have to ask, though," Eleanor continued, as she began the arduous process of wrapping Princess Genevieve up in all of that fabric. "Is it really so terrible marrying our prince? Not that he''s the nicest man I''ve ever met, by any stretch. But in my head I guess I figured he wouldn''t have to be. I like a royal wedding as much as the next girl, but I¡¯m not a fool. We know it''s all politics for you regal types. The girls from the capital tell me the Queen kept separate bedchambers and found herself all sorts of pretty young things to keep her company, back before she passed. Doesn''t sound like such a bad arrangement, if you''re gonna be hitched to a cart you didn''t ask for regardless."


    Holding herself still while the gown was pulled into place around her, Genevieve could only scowl bitterly and shake her head with disdain.  "I don''t want to be in bed with that man politically any more than I want to be in bed with him physically," she said. "I don''t want any part of this whole ghastly enterprise." She glanced at Eleanor. "I''m sorry if that offends. You aren''t responsible. But he is."


    All Eleanor could do was shake her head sadly. She zipped up the back of the gown and set the outermost layer of cloth in place. "No, I understand. I''m sure this land seems cruel, coming from outside. King Harmon only tamed it by being even crueler. And Prince Cornelius is undoubtedly his father''s son. For better or worse, that''s the way of it." Once everything was done Eleanor took a step back and put her hands on her hips. "Turn for me, dearie?" she said.


    Slowly, Genevieve turned around, the delicate fabric of the gown swishing around her elegantly. It was a heavy, cumbersome garment, even with its more compact style. There was no chance of her moving very far or very fast in it. She¡¯d sat still and let herself become more trapped than she already was. The proof of that hung off her body, heavier than just the fabric.


    Eleanor was giving her most reassuring smile, a warm expression well-suited to her charmingly chubby face. The thoughts running through Genevieve¡¯s head made it hard to appreciate. She placed her hands on Princess Genevieve''s shoulders. "You look lovely," she said.


    In response Genevieve shuffled in place and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I suppose this thing doesn''t have any pockets, does it?"


    "I''m afraid not, dear," Eleanor said with a little chuckle. "But what does these days, eh?"


    Genevieve answered with a thin, polite smile.


    "Anyway, let me get the veil for you, and you''ll be ready to go out there and¨Cdo what you have to, I suppose." Eleanor''s face fell mid-sentence. "Sorry, dearie. I was trying to be positive."


    "It''s all right," Genevieve said. "Thanks for the attempt."


    Nodding her head, Eleanor stood back to look around the room. "All right, then," she said in a long exhale. "Where''d I put the darn thing¡­?"


    She turned her back for just a moment while she looked. Genevieve took the opportunity to lean down and tug at the strap around her ankle, quick and furtive. It wasn¡¯t quite as hard to reach as she had feared, but the mess of fabric she was clothed in certainly did its best to get in the way.


    "Oh, no, you shouldn''t do that, Your Highness," Eleanor said, stopping Genevieve in her tracks. "A wedding gown''s not made for moving in. It''s just for looking pretty. You''ll start ripping things like that."


    Her breath caught in her throat, Genevieve slowly stood up. "I''m sorry, miss Eleanor," she said. "I just needed to adjust my stockings. They were bothering me."


    "That''s what I''m here for, dear," Eleanor chided gently. "If anything isn''t fit quite right, let me know and I''ll fix it up right and quick, all right?"


    Genevieve nodded silently, taking deep steady breaths, her hand pressed tightly against her side. Careful, careful, she thought to herself. Careful, careful.


    A look passed over Eleanor''s face, but she quickly decided it wasn''t her place to question. It was a convenient perk of royalty. No matter how friendly you were, people didn''t like to challenge you. Just in case you were the same kind of monster as all the others, under the surface. She moved toward Genevieve and lifted the bridal veil over her head. "Here we go dear, just like that."


    While she was setting the veil on, Eleanor leaned in and muttered conspiratorially. "Just between you and me," she said quietly. "We''re all sort of hoping you''ll be a good influence on him. Or at least that he''ll leave you in charge of the human staff."


    "I understand." Genevieve nodded, ignoring the lump in her throat and the knot in her stomach. "I wouldn''t want to work for him either."


    For a moment Eleanor stared at Genevieve, a worried frown on her face. Then she leaned in, and gently put her arms around her. Genevieve stiffened at the unexpected touch, but didn''t reject it. "Good luck to you, dear. Let''s just hope it won''t be so bad."


    Genevieve nodded, still focused on that steady breathing. She kept her right hand clutched tightly against her side, but reached out to give Eleanor a cautious pat on the back. "Good luck," she repeated, granting herself a single long sigh. "I will need it. Maybe everyone will."

 Cornelius

    Soon enough a procession of hulking automaton guards appeared outside the dressing room, and Genevieve was escorted outside into the dry, dusty air. It was chafing, cloying, and difficult to breathe, but what disturbed her most was its uncanny lifelessness. The air in her homeland was humid but rarely muggy, cool and refreshing whenever you stepped outdoors, and rich with vibrant, living magic. Her entire life she had been accompanied by the subtle whisper of energy at her fingertips. She was used to feeling a connection with the land, and being able to manifest its will as her own. But in Gryst the air, the land itself, was barren, hollowed out and dried. Whatever once grew on the plains had long died out. The earth had no power to express itself. And so neither did she.


    She didn''t understand how anybody could live in a place like this.


    And then there were the automatons. The hulking metal men marching her to her fate, sunlight glinting brightly off their smooth, rounded metal bodies. They had no faces, only empty helmets affixed to the tops of their heads. Genevieve had only realized in the last few days that the helmets were added on after the fact, bolted to the headless torsos of these things that had no need for a mind, in what must have been an attempt to make them seem the slightest bit more personable. They were nothing more than hollow shells, another symptom of the desolation that King Harmon and his ghoul of a son somehow expected their subjects to live in.


    They had given her a twisted feeling deep in her body even before Cornelius''s little display. Now she could barely stand to look at them.


    Genevieve was marched out of the Prince''s palace¨Chis summer home in remote Fogard, where it was so easy to keep her isolated¨Cand down a cordoned path with ornate arches covered in green vines and bright flower arrangements. She could feel the plants drying and fading in the sun every time she walked under one.


    Her guards forced her down the path, away from the palace itself and to the ostentatious chapel built right next door. She walked past the board in the front where the Prince''s men had put up bounty posters naming the kingdom''s most wanted. There were pencil sketches of a burly, scowling man, a girl with two horns and sharp, angry teeth, a stout older woman, and a thin, reedy man with an incredibly narrow mustache. Seeing them made Genevieve uncomfortable. Verdane issued bounties, certainly, but they didn''t place them front and center in front of a house meant to honor the Pulse. There was something wrong about it, something carceral and grotesque, but the more time she spent with Cornelius the less such things surprised her.


    Crowds had gathered along the edges of the palace to watch the ceremony. They followed her along the walkway, cheering and celebrating, eager and excited, but notably keeping a short distance from the cordons that told them where they could not go. Nobody wanted to risk stepping a toe over the line.


    The ceremony was being held at an altar constructed just for the event, placed atop a raised stage so a crowd of the Prince¡¯s subjects could witness the splendor of it all. Genevieve¡¯s automaton procession led her up the short flight of steps. She had to raise her knees slowly so she wouldn''t trip over the gown or topple over on her heels as she climbed. It was imperative that she carry herself carefully, so carefully, in case any errant movement dislodged the one thing she couldn''t afford to lose, but thankfully it didn''t make her seem suspicious. A Princess is meant to take slow, dainty little steps. That''s why they put her in such obnoxious outfits to begin with.


    Onlookers followed her from when she left the palace all through her slow walk to the stage behind the chapel. Now she had reached her destination they were filtering into the parade ground cleared out for them to stand and gawk in. Genevieve tried not to resent them too much. There was always huss and fuss around her, from people who didn''t know her and shouldn''t be giving her so much credit. But they enjoyed the show, and in a land like this one, she could hardly blame anybody brightening their life with some good old royal spectacle. Maybe they hoped the union between Gryst and Verdane would make it easier to get fresh produce from the neighboring kingdom.


    They at least could have given me a fruit bowl, Genevieve thought to herself. Normally she tried not to be so petty and entitled, but she wasn¡¯t going to be her best self today. And stress had a way of making her hungry.


    She climbed the stairs up to the altar, where a massive wooden arch decked out in red and gold stood over a lectern set up for the priest. Genevieve could see him, a tall, thin, balding man in long white robes talking with a flustered young woman she recognized as one of Cornelius''s maids behind the altar stage. Cornelius himself was nowhere to be seen, of course. His grand entrance needed to be the main event. Until he decided it was time to get this over with, Genevieve just had to stand there. Trembling slightly. Keeping herself steeled and shredding her nerves till they bled.


    The murmurs from the crowd were getting louder. Every now and then she picked out someone saying her name or title in some combination of excitement and curiosity. They weren''t hostile to her, but she was an object of fascination, a royal from another kingdom moments away from becoming one of their rulers. They wanted to know what kind of person she was, how things might change once she was part of their royal family. She wouldn¡¯t know what to tell them even if she had the chance.


    Being gawked at was nothing new, but it was strange to realize she was unknown. Back home people had developed ideas about her. She had a public persona of sorts, and the papers long ago settled on their spin for everything she said and did in public. She was the spitfire, the problem child, petulant and immature and insufficiently regal. Making herself out as a woman of the people because she was too naive to realize how politically important and tragically pampered she was. Well-intentioned, perhaps, but a little embarrassing.


    It always irked her. She respected her subjects, and she thought it was important to serve them. She understood that her position offered her privileges, and that it came with responsibilities. She had tried very hard to be an eloquent, passionate advocate to her parents, and to argue in favor of what she thought was right. But the men who wrote the papers were served well by the status quo, so if she was bringing an impetus to change it, that could only be youthful rebelliousness. Condescending self-righteousness. Childlike naivete. "It is good to have a Princess who believes in change," one of them had written, "and equally important for her to grow into a Queen that understands the importance of stability."


    Genevieve placed a hand on her dress, above her heart, just to be sure it was there. She knew what was important. She did not need an old man living a comfortable life behind an editor''s desk to agree for it to be true.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    A voice startled her out of her recollection. "Perk up, Your Highness," the priest said, with a beaming smile. He had walked onto the stage and approached her while she wasn''t watching. "It''s a joyous occasion. Your subjects want a smile."


    Genevieve glanced out to the crowd for a brief moment, avoiding the priest¡¯s eyes until she decided how to answer. "I am simply growing impatient," she said. "With nothing to do but wait and wait."


    "That''s understandable," the priest said. "I''m sure the anticipation would be getting to me too, if I were in your shoes. But don''t fret. They''re telling me he should be coming out in just a moment now."


    "Thank you." Genevieve nodded politely. "I will bide my time."


    The priest smiled and nodded and gestured an acknowledgement with the holy book in his hand. He walked off to take his place behind the podium in the center of the altar, and Genevieve was left alone with each second crawling agonizingly slow over her skin.


    Her gaze passed once more over the altar stage itself. It was regally decorated, with the red-gold arch in the center and floral arrangements placed all around the edges of the platform. The half-dozen automata that escorted her had arranged themselves in a precise, formal line. Three on each side of the stage, standing at attention, still as statues. The sun shining on their slick, polished armor was almost blinding.


    A loud trumpet sounded out across the field. Genevieve looked all around for the trumpeter, who seemed to be very, very close, but no matter where her gaze passed she couldn''t see any sign of a band, even as other instruments began to play a regal marching tune. There was a strange quality to the sound, like it was coming from a small room through an open door. She heard quiet chuckles from the crowd as she kept looking, which told her she was going to have to take the mystery music in stride. If there was magic doing this, she would be able to feel it, but the air was as dead as ever. Which meant the sound had to be coming from some impossible device, an inexplicable Gryst invention like the automaton guards. It was another display of power from the Prince: no magic, no men, but the band plays all the same.


    He was more fond of his machines anyway.


    Clanking metal could be heard past the corner of the church, opposite from where Genevieve had come in. Cheers came from the crowd on that side of the building, who had been waiting to watch the Prince''s procession, and the first trickle of them began filtering into the parade ground for the ceremony itself.


    It took only a few moments longer for the Prince''s regiment to make their appearance. The first to round the corner was an automaton, smaller than the others, dressed in an elaborate military regalia. A commander, perhaps, leading the royal guard. Following behind came another regiment of half a dozen automatons, three on the left and three on the right, forming a phalanx around their royal charge, the man of the hour. The Prince himself.


    Prince Cornelius was a tightly constructed specimen. Perfectly chiseled, with a strong square jaw and piercing green eyes, blond hair in a flamboyant coiffe and shoulders that weren''t quite broad enough to be conspicuous. His skin was fair, but perfectly tanned in that way only the wealthy had time to achieve. He had bragged to Genevieve that a physician (whose credentials Genevieve very much doubted) told him his skull was the perfect ratio (of what, exactly, was a mystery greater than any written on the stars). And yet every time Genevieve saw the Prince, she noticed him trying to make himself look taller than he really was.


    For the ceremony he had donned a fine, tailored suit. Luxurious imported silk, in the same deep blood red of Gryst''s heraldry, adorned with the expected gold trims. He grinned big and wide and waved to the crowd as he walked around the bend and approached the altar. The sound of people swept up in the excitement and splendor of royalty grew louder the closer he got to the stage.


    More cheers came from the crowd when his procession moved onto the stairs, the leading automaton first, then the prince and the guards flanking him. The click of Prince Cornelius''s hard-toed dress shoes against the wooden steps stood out clearly amongst the metallic clanking and thudding of armor. Each step sent a little trickle of dread oozing down Genevieve''s spine.


    The commanding automaton stepped up onto the stage, and immediately marched off towards the corner, where it stood rigidly at attention. The phalanx automatons did the same, joining the ones that had come out with Genevieve in their lines at the sides of the stage. And then there was Cornelius himself, walking towards the middle and stopping just a short distance from Genevieve. He grinned at her, his eyes looking her over with ugly triumph hiding behind them, his wide grin taking on a darkly predatory quality only for her. "My dearest Genevieve," he said with looming gravitas.


    "Cornelius." Genevieve did her best to smile pretty for the Prince and the crowd. Giving him what he wanted. Best to appease him, just for a few moments. Just long enough.


    The music slowly died down and the crowd began to hush, not fully silent but keeping their conversations to a respectful whisper. A quiet thunk was made by the priest setting his holy book on the podium. He adjusted a strange device, tall and black and thin with a rounded top, that was set before him, and the soft tap he gave it reverberated loudly across the parade grounds. ¡°A good afternoon to everyone assembled,¡± he said, and his voice came out so big and booming that even those far in the back would have heard it clearly. ¡°Honored guests and loyal subjects of the Kingdom of Gryst, today is a day for rejoicing. We are gathered here, at this site of the Holy Pulse, to celebrate the marriage of these two beautiful young people." He swept his hands across the stage, and Cornelius waved big and grand for all to see. All Genevieve could muster was a tiny wave and a tinier smile. Dainty and timid, like a Princess should be.


    ¡°I know everyone has been waiting patiently to see this wedding,¡± the priest continued, ¡°and the union of this great nation with our verdant neighbors to the south. But as impatient as you are right now, imagine how our lucky couple must feel!¡± That earned a polite sort-of-laugh from the crowd. ¡°So let¡¯s not keep them waiting any longer. Will the bride and groom please step forward?¡±


    As soon as he said that, Genevieve held up her hand. "Before we do," she said, speaking up loud enough for the crowd to hear her for the first time since she took the stage. A murmur ran through the parade ground, and the Prince''s smile took on a forced, strained quality. "There is one thing I need to say to you¡­ my dearest.¡± She looked Cornelius in the eye. ¡°In front of the people of Gryst and our fine priest, serving witness for the Pulse itself."


    "And what is this portentous message, my sweet?" Cornelius asked. He was grinning wide for the crowd, but there was murder in his eyes.


    Genevieve didn''t answer with words. She put her hand to her breast, gripped tightly, and stepped forward towards the Prince.


    It was careful work, pulling it out from its hiding place under the frills of her gown. She¡¯d practiced the motion over and over with the fanciest dress she still had from home. The wedding gown was much more cumbersome. But not so cumbersome she couldn¡¯t still do it.


    She took another step.


    There was no way to be inconspicuous. So she had to be fast. The Prince was close enough now. Even with her heels. Just this once she didn¡¯t have to be elegant. She only needed to strike true.


    She threw herself at him, and aimed the blade for his heart.

 The Devil

    Cornelius was too shocked to move. Just as she planned it. He had left himself vulnerable, and her aim was true.


    But she never could have been fast enough.


    Genevieve¡¯s arms wrenched back, seized and twisted by the inhumanly powerful hands of a looming automata. She gasped in pain, and the knife she was gripping so tightly clattered to the stage.


    A deathly quiet fell over the crowd.


    "You''re putting on quite the performance, my pet," Cornelius said, visibly trembling with rage. His impeccably coiffed, pedigreed face looked like it was about to grind all of its teeth to dust. With a single heavy footstep, angrily and ominously stomped into the wooden floor, he leaned in right up close to her, and glared daggers into her eyes.


    "Your Highness, what is¨C" the priest began to say, but a single look from Cornelius silenced him. He shut his holy book and left it on the altar as he walked off the stage. Cornelius didn''t wait for him to leave before he turned his attention back to Genevieve.


    "What did you think you were going to do, you backwoods ingrate?" he hissed in his most loathsome voice. "Do you believe my father''s pointless political dance will stay my hand?" He put his hand on her chin, squeezed her face between his thumb and his forefinger. Brushed away the bridal veil with his other hand. Looking her face over like he was inspecting a piece of fine pottery for chips and flaws. And he scowled at her for being a disappointment, squeezing her cheeks forcefully, speaking in a low, threatening growl from the back of his throat. "What use do you think I have for a toy I''m not allowed to break?"


    Everything Genevieve could possibly feel was roiling through her all at once. Her limbs were frozen in fear, but her entire body shook with unbridled fury. The pain screaming from her twisted arms was just barely numbed by the adrenaline surging through her, the deep icy chill down her spine only warmed by her seething, raging, white-hot hatred. She wanted to fight, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, she wanted to live, she wanted to die, she wanted to strangle Prince Cornelius in front of all his subjects and every other soul in the world.


    She wanted to go home.


    The bastard''s face was so close to hers.


    There was nothing inside her now but spite and desperation. She was cornered, helpless, and restrained. But she needed to act. In whatever way she could.


    Princess Genevieve welled up all the saliva she could get from her mouth and spat in the Prince¡¯s face.


    A gasp ran through the assembled crowd and was quickly swallowed by stunned, terrified silence. Cornelius took even a second longer to process what had happened. He stepped back, so taken aback he forgot to be furious for just one brief moment, and wiped his face off with the sleeve of his fine, luxurious, royal suit.


    The Prince slowly turned his gaze towards the crowd. He stared at them all blankly. And then he turned that same blank stare onto Genevieve. Her brain started moving again in that moment, and she kicked and strained against the grip of the automaton holding her in place. But something dark and cold and monstrous in the Prince''s eyes stopped her flailing. She froze, and stood numbly with the metal hand tight around her wrist.


    He turned his back to her. The automaton waiting at the edge of the stage, the smaller one adorned in royal regalia, approached him. Prince Cornelius reached out to remove the long, thin blade that it was wearing on its hip. He held the sword up for a moment, as if testing its weight, and then he simply stood still. For one second, and another, and another.


    And then he whipped around. His sword held out. The tip extended just far enough.


    In the split second she had, Genevieve saw the point about to slash across her face. Held by the automaton, she could only jerk away from it. Her eyes closed tight, waiting for the cut. A small whimper escaped her lips.


    Thock.


    A sound like a knife smacking against the bark of a tree.


    ¡°What the hell is wrong with all of you?¡±


    Genevieve opened her eyes.


    Standing in front of her was a cloaked figure. Right arm held up, blocking the blade with a thick, padded armguard.


    ¡°Is this the kind of sick show you like to put on around here?¡±


    The voice was feminine, but husky and brusque. A blue, spaded tale wound its way out from beneath their cloak and flicked the air in indignation.


    Cornelius¡¯s face twisted from confused anger to furious rage. ¡°How dare you,¡± he snarled with open malevolence.


    ¡°What, you got this big-ass crowd of people and they¡¯re just supposed to watch you slash up a lady¡¯s face?¡±


    The Prince pulled back his blade, keeping it in his hand but down at his side. ¡°Get this thing off the stage,¡± he commanded furiously. ¡°Get it off!¡±


    At his word, the dozen automatons standing idle all sprang to life. Long, flat, heavy blades extended from inside their arms, and they charged at the cloaked person in uncanny unison. The closest one had been standing right by Cornelius. It lunged forward, blade extended, already close enough to strike. The figure in the cloak didn''t move. Their hand twitched and then it was at their hip.


    BLAM


    A deafening explosion rang out. The automaton stopped in its tracks, a hole blown clean through its center. It fell to the ground in a shaking, malfunctioning heap. The cloaked figure held something¨Ca black powder pistol, but not like any Genevieve had seen before. The hood covering her head fell back, and for a brief moment Genevieve could see a glimpse of a young woman. Her round, boyish face was covered in fine blue scales, and two nubby horns poked out from underneath her short, messy black hair. Genevieve could just barely make out, over the ringing in her ears, loud, fearful cries of ¡±Demon!¡± from somewhere in the crowd.


    The girl whipped around towards the pair of automata closing in on her next. There were two more loud BLAM BLAMs, and a second pistol was in her right hand now, each gun blasting a hole into an automaton, each automaton crumpling where it stood.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    She turned casually and¨CBLAM¨Cfired a shot towards Prince Cornelius while he made a rapid exit from the parade stage. The small automaton in the military uniform leaped out in front of the bullet, catching it in the midsection. With an uncanny shudder the machine crumpled and fell to the ground as a sad pile of scrap metal.


    Cornelius was out of her sights, so the woman turned to Genevieve. Her right hand traced an odd semi-circle in the air, looping around Genevieve¡¯s body¨Cthen aiming just to the side of her head. Genevieve winced and


    BLAM


    the grip around her loosened as the newly-perforated automaton fell down to the floor. She wrenched herself from its mechanical hands. The demon girl leaped towards her and was suddenly on top of her. She didn¡¯t look much older than Genevieve, and she was a few inches shorter, but she pushed Genevieve down, gently but insistently, arching her back protectively as she did so. She yelled something Genevieve couldn¡¯t hear over the ringing in her ears, and Genevieve looked at her confused. The demon girl repeated it again, as uselessly as the first time. When Genevieve could only shake her head the girl took Genevieve¡¯s hands and pressed them against her ears. Finally getting the idea, Genevieve hunkered down as it seemed the girl wanted her to, and pressed her hands against her ears as tightly as she could. She didn¡¯t know how much it was going to help after her ears had already been blown out by gunshots, but it was probably better than nothing at all.


    Evidently satisfied, the demon girl stood up¨Cjust as an automaton approached behind her and plunged its sword down into her. Or at least it intended to. Instead it found itself stuck in the wooden floor of the altar, the edge of the blade grazing harmlessly against the girl¡¯s padded right arm as she pivoted out of its way. She raised her guns and with two more loud bangs blasted holes into the automaton, which collapsed against the stage with its sword arm still embedded in the floor.


    The rest of the guards weren''t simply standing still. Six automatons surrounded the gunslinger and swung their blades at her with precise coordination. She darted back from one sword, only to put herself directly into the path of another. She could only avoid it by bending far backwards and letting the arc of the blade narrowly pass over her midsection. Then she had to twist wildly to right herself and slip away from the blades of two more automatons, who clashed against each other as they struck where her gut had been just an instant before.


    The last two automatons couldn¡¯t get through the mass of their comrades to attack her directly. But they swung in her direction anyway, boxing her in with the tips of their blades. The devil girl had almost¨Cperhaps literally¨Csupernatural agility, and her nimble, sinuous body was small enough to dodge away from the automatons¡¯ heavy protruding blades at every turn. That didn¡¯t matter when she was surrounded by six guards that wouldn¡¯t give her time to aim her guns or room to fire them. They¡¯d forced her into a battle of attrition, and she was going to lose.


    There had to be something Genevieve could do to help her, but she couldn¡¯t think of what. She looked around the stage desperately, but there was nothing¨CCornelius ran off with his sword, of course, and even if she had a blade¡­


    Then she noticed the small, crumpled automaton in the regal uniform, and the slight, faint, but deeply familiar shimmer coming off of it. A tiny, almost imperceptible trace of magic leaking from the hole the devil girl¡¯s bullet had blown through it.


    Genevieve knew what that must mean. It was almost a relief nothing had been released from the other ones. But she didn¡¯t have time to dwell on that. She ran to the downed machine and scooped the little shred of energy it had into her fingers.


    Genevieve hadn¡¯t been given much chance to exercise this muscle since she was sent to Gryst, three whole months ago. And even with a bit of magic, the barren earth didn¡¯t give her a lot to use it on. But she could at least stop the ringing in her ears. Undoing minor physical inconveniences was the first thing anyone learned to use magic for. So she channeled a piece of that tiny spark of life into her ears, restoring her hearing with a loud pop. Suddenly she could hear the clashing of swords and the devil girl¡¯s exertions as she dodged between them. But just as she channeled a little bit more, to protect her ears from the rest of the explosions that were sure to come, she heard something else¨Cthe clanking of metal, loud and fast behind her.


    She had no time to think. She threw herself to the side, feeling that little bit of magic she recovered slipping out of her fingers to be sucked back into the starving earth. The armored fist of an automaton crashed into the wreckage of its former captain, smashing what was left of it into pieces.


    The guard turned to loom over Genevieve. She was helplessly trapped in the thick layers of her own dress, and flailing about trying to get to her feet only made things worse. She yelped in fear and frustration, backing up towards the edge of the stage. Falling to the ground was the only escape she could think of. But the automaton was on top of her, and there was no way she could throw herself off before she was grabbed.


    Her cries caught the devil girl''s attention. She glanced in Genevieve¡¯s direction, but she didn''t let herself get caught off guard. She slid under an automaton''s sword strike, and then jumped right at the machine''s armored chest. Her feet came up and she planted them on its plated chassis, digging her clawed toes in with a metallic crunch. The force of the impact didn''t move the automaton in the slightest. It didn¡¯t have to. With all the strength she could muster, she kicked off its chest and launched herself up and over the melee she was caught in.


    One of the guards swung at her while she jumped over it. She twisted out of the way, but it managed to catch her in the shin and she went tumbling. Her head banged against the automaton''s helmet and knocked it off completely. It clattered to the ground and so did she, smacking into the wooden platform with a hard, ugly thud.


    Genevieve could see her out the corner of her eye, past the automaton reaching its hand out to grab her neck. Crashing into the ground didn''t slow her down. Teeth gritted and eyes focused, she raised her gun and fired. Bang.


    The bullet punched a hole clean through the automaton¡¯s chest. Genevieve could see clearly the strange, gently glimmering web of metal threads and geometric shapes inside the machine. A light inside it flickered red for a brief moment before dimming completely. And the guard went down¨Cwith Genevieve underneath it. Its heavy metal body collapsed on top of her, leaving her to struggle and wriggle her way out from underneath it.


    "Agh," she grunted while she jerked her arms free. "Damn it, damn it, damn it¡­"


    "Sorry!" the devil girl exclaimed. The automaton she had jumped over loomed behind her, sword raised for a killing blow, until she leaned to the side, bent her arm behind her head, and fired a shot behind her through its chest. "Sorry," she repeated. "I''ll help you out, I will, just lemme¨C"


    She vaulted forward, narrowly avoiding a leaping plunge directed at her spine, and rolled onto her feet. She twisted around on her ankle and fired off a quick shot through her attacker''s middle.


    But there wasn''t even a moment''s respite. Another guard leapt over its fallen comrade and charged at her with a fast, lunging stab. The demon girl simply jumped over it, like a practiced runner leaping over a hurdle, to land perched on one foot atop the flat of the broad, thick blade.


    Before the automaton could shake her off, she stepped forward with her other foot and sprung into a flip. Guns raised, cloak flowing behind her, and tail whipping through the air, she soared over the automaton and put two more bullets in two more guards that were waiting behind it. Then the momentum of the flip pulled her head forward and down, under her heels, and she fired one more shot into the back of her mechanical springboard. Her feet hit the ground just a second before three automatons did, one after the other in rapid succession.


    Only one guard was left, and it wasn''t programmed to back down. But now the tables were fully turned, and the devil girl was in her element. The last guard swung at her once, twice, three times, a flurry of quick, devastating strikes, but she slipped past each one with easy, fluid steps. Finding no success, the automaton reeled back for one more decisive blow, striking down diagonally to slice through as wide an area as it could.


    The girl leaned to the side and raised her arm. The blade sailed a fraction of an inch past her head. It scraped briefly against her armguard. And then the barrel of her gun was pressed against the automaton''s chest.


    She pulled the trigger and one last blam rang out, echoing across the chapel grounds. Genevieve, feeling her small bit of magical protection fade, pressed her hands to her ears so they wouldn¡¯t get blown out again. The last automaton crashed to the ground, and a long, still silence fell over the altar.

 Gravity

    With one last forceful push, groaning and grunting with exertion, Genevieve pried her legs from under the automaton pinning her. The long skirt of her dress was ripped, but still thick and heavy enough for her to get tangled up in it. She kicked the tight, high-heeled wedding shoes she¡¯d been made to wear off the stage. They fell onto barren earth. The crowd fled the scene as soon as the shooting started. She couldn''t exactly blame them¨Cnothing was coming to this place except a whole lot more trouble.


    The devil girl cast her eyes to the chapel, on the lookout for that very trouble. She tilted her guns down at an angle, and twisted one of them slightly to the side. With the hand that was holding her other gun, she held out a few fingers and spun the weapon''s rotating center piece. It made a rapid clickclickclickclick sound and then settled itself back into place. Switching sides, she repeated the same motion on the other gun. With a flick of her wrist, two long metal rectangles fell out of the guns, and she raised both of them up, prepared for any further assailants.


    While she slowly turned around in a careful circle, sweeping her barrels across the area, the gunslinger dug around inside her cloak with her tail. It came out wrapped around another one of the metal rectangles, which it inserted into one of the guns, and then dipped back inside for another. Once both had been replaced and the girl turned far enough to see Genevieve, she lowered the guns and tucked them away in holsters beneath her cloak. Her tail darted out to scoop up the two metal boxes she dropped, and slipped them into a small pouch at her waist.


    It took a bit of effort, but Genevieve managed to stand back up by herself. The wooden stage was warm and smooth beneath her feet¨Cshe wasn''t afraid of getting splinters from it, at least. Just as she was taking a few experimental steps to make sure the automaton hadn''t crushed anything, the devil girl approached, sprinting to her while she pulled her cloak back around her shoulders.


    "Sorry for droppin'' that thing on ya," she said. "I just¨C"


    "No, don''t apologize for that." Genevieve bowed her head gratefully. "Thank you for killing it."


    "Ah¡­ all right." The devil girl ran her fingers absent-mindedly over the scales on the back of her hand. "Hey, listen. Your, uh¡­ well, I mean, I assume the whole wedding thing is off, otherwise this was all a lot of wasted effort, so, uh, that asshole? Definitely has a whole bunch more of those metal men marching out this way." Her eyes wandered around the landscape just past Genevieve''s head, never quite looking directly at her face. "So we gotta, like, get all the way not here, pretty damn quick. Is the thing."


    "You''re absolutely right." Genevieve took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself to run. "Lead the way, then," she said, holding her hand out towards the blue-scaled woman before her.


    "Lead the¨Coh. Yeah. Right. Sure. I can do that." The girl looked at Genevieve and then reached out to clasp her hand. "Just, stay close, all right? I''ll do what I can."


    "Of course¨C" Genevieve began, but she was cut off mid-sentence when the girl suddenly jerked her forward, dashing towards the stairs.


    It was an instant disaster. There was no way she could keep up with this girl at the best of times, and with the big poofy dress she was in, her feet got themselves tangled up in fabric and each other after a single unexpected, bounding step. She stumbled and tripped forward and then the world was a tangle of limbs and scales and fabric, the pit of her stomach dropping out as the ground disappeared from under her.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Genevieve squawked in the least dignified way possible as she fell into the devil girl, knocking her off the platform. The girl fell onto the stairs with a grunt of pain and bounced off of them like she was made of rubber. They both wound up smacking into the tightly packed earth of the walkway below the stage, slightly battered and entirely caught up on each other.


    ¡°Aaargh!¡± Genevieve howled angrily, trying to extract herself from the impromptu girl-pile. ¡°God damn it! I can¡¯t move in this, this fucking¨C¡±


    ¡°Hey, hey, calm down!¡± the devil girl snapped sharply. ¡°Just for like two seconds. You''ve got no idea how many explosives I¡¯m carrying right now, you¡¯re gonna set something off if you keep flailing like that.¡±


    ¡°That¨Cyou¨C¡± Genevieve started, but she didn¡¯t actually have anything to say. The warning scared her still, and she kept her body as rigid as possible while the girl dexterously slipped her way free, leaving Genevieve to sort herself out on the warm, hard ground.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the devil girl said. ¡°Sorry, it was just easier to pull myself out with you sitting still. I only have a couple of bombs on me, for the record, an¡¯ they shouldn¡¯t be going off just from getting jostled a bit, but uh. Rather not risk it. S¡¯dangerous stuff.¡±


    Who are you and why are you like this, Genevieve thought to herself, but this really wasn¡¯t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. ¡°It¨Cit¡¯s all right,¡± she said, shakily rising to her feet again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to fall. I just¨Cthis stupid gown, it¡¯s¡­¡±


    Genevieve leaned down and started tugging at the skirt of her dress, trying to rip the bottom part of it off, or detach it, or something, so it wouldn¡¯t be getting completely in the way of her legs, but it was a durable enough garment that just tugging with her hands wasn¡¯t going to rip the thing apart. ¡°I can¡¯t run like this, I just¨Cthey put me in this, it¡¯s not like I had any other clothes, I-I have to¡­¡±


    The devil girl glanced around, her body still on alert and wary of another fight. She exhaled softly and stepped towards Genevieve. ¡°Okay, hold on. Do¨Cd¡¯ya need help? Do you want me to help you?¡±


    ¡°I¨Cyes,¡± Genevieve said, refusing to let everything that had happened in the last two minutes hit her, trying to keep her eyes locked forward. ¡°Yes. Please.¡±


    ¡°All right. All right. Just¡­ don¡¯t move or nothin¡¯, I¡¯ll try to be, y¡¯know, considerate.¡± The devil girl held out her hands, which ended in long, sharp, dangerous looking claws, and kneeled down next to Genevieve. With a deep breath she reached out and grabbed the fabric of the skirt, tearing into it with her claws. Then she yanked on the dress, harder and faster than Genevieve could have expected. In a single motion she ripped the lower part of the gown apart, shredding the fabric, leaving a tattered, uneven, ruined skirt that went down to vaguely around knee-length, give or take.


    The speed of it took Genevieve by surprise and she squeaked a little as her legs were suddenly exposed to the warm, dry air. That seemed to embarrass the girl, who looked away from Genevieve as she quickly stood up, like she didn¡¯t want to be caught staring at a lady¡¯s legs. ¡°Hey, look, I¨C¡± she started saying, but then she shook her head and tossed the scraps of fabric she was holding aside. ¡°Sorry. Thought it¡¯d be better to get it done quick. Should have given you a warning.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Genevieve insisted, ¡°it¡¯s really fine. Quite fine.¡± She took a few steps forward and was relieved that, while the gown was still heavy and awkward and no good for moving in, she at least wasn¡¯t tripping over it with every step. ¡°I¡¯m glad to be rid of it. I¡¯ll be more glad to get rid of the rest.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Okay. Well, uh, so long as you¡¯re glad¡­ I guess I am too?¡± the devil girl said tentatively, like she was trying to ask if that was the right answer.


    ¡°It¡¯s a relief, at least,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°But, please, let¡¯s just keep going.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, of course. C¡¯mon. I¡¯ll, uh, run slower,¡± she said, and she took off, leading Genevieve off the pathway, past the cordon, and away from the church.

 Marcie

    True to her word, the girl held herself back, keeping just ahead of Genevieve at an antsy, uncomfortable jog. Showing so much restraint made the girl anxious, if her fidgeting was anything to go by, but Genevieve really did need it. Most of the roads were traveled enough for the ground to be tightly packed and not too rough on her bare feet, but there were still occasional rocks, and whenever they stepped off onto a side street she found herself stepping on more gravel than she wanted to. Despite the discomfort, Genevieve kept her eyes on her guide and kept moving forward, keeping pace as best as she could and not letting herself think about anything else.


    Every now and then the devil girl glanced back at her to make sure she was still following, which Genevieve appreciated. She would be completely and utterly lost without her help, and the looks of fear, confusion, and disdain they got from the few people who noticed them on the street weren¡¯t reassuring. Everybody was hurrying inside and shutting themselves in tightly, anticipating the trouble they already knew was coming. None of them wanted anything to do with whatever mess Genevieve and the devil girl had gotten themselves into.


    After a few minutes of running through the streets like that, the devil girl jerked her head up just slightly, as though she was suddenly struck by an important thought. ¡°Oh, right,¡± she said, and she slowed her pace down even further to match Genevieve¡¯s step for step. "Marcie."


    Genevieve was confused for a moment before she realized what that meant. "That''s¡­ your name?"


    "Yeah. Marcelle Silver. But Marcelle''s kinda weird so folks just call me Marcie. Or Marce. My dad called me ''Marcester'' once but I told him I was not gonna let that catch on and it didn''t."


    "I¡­ I see." Every word that came out of this girl¡¯s mouth made her significantly less intimidating. Genevieve was glad for that, though. "Well, then, my name is¨C"


    "I know who you are!" Marcie interjected. "C''mon. You''re that princess. Princess Gene¡­ Genese? Guinevere?" She scratched the side of her head with a clawed hand. "Okay, shit, maybe I don''t know," she muttered sheepishly.


    "That''s all right." Without slowing down, Genevieve roughly mimicked a courtly curtsy in her ripped gown. "I am Princess Genevieve of Verdane. Thank you very much for your assistance."


    "Right, that was it," Marcie said. "Jen."


    "...Jen?" Genevieve repeated, taken aback.


    "Oh. Should I not call you that?" Marcie asked, looking away like she had been rebuked. "All right. That''s fine. Uh, should I say the whole thing every time then, or¨C"


    "That''s really all right," Genevieve said, cutting her off. "You can call me whatever name you want. I¡¯m completely in your debt right now."


    "Ah, no you''re not." Marcie drew her cloak around herself, her body language hunched and guarded. Her scraggly bangs hung down over her face, giving her a grumpy yet charmingly disheveled look. "All I did''s the bare minimum. It''s a pretty sorry state of stuff if that whole crowd could watch what was going on there without anyone even trying to raise a hand."


    "You fought off a dozen automaton soldiers single-handedly," Genevieve said dumbfounded. "That''s far beyond the bare minimum."


    "Eh, they''re really not that big a deal," Marcie said with a shrug. "They got this, like, processing center thing in the middle, and a buncha motor junctions that control the function of each individual limb and stuff, uh¡­"


    She spoke with the halting cadence of someone about to wander off into the woods, but before she lost Genevieve completely Marcie bit at her lip with her pointed, sharklike teeth and reconsidered the trajectory of her sentence.


    "...Point is they''re not built with a lotta redundancy in mind? Armor''s s''posed to keep all the important stuff safe, so if you got somethin'' that''ll punch through it and know where you need to hit they''ll, uh, they''ll go down pretty quick."


    Marcie turned down a particularly narrow back alley, too narrow for them to walk side by side, so Genevieve followed a few steps behind. It was strange to hear a girl barely older than herself talk so casually about taking down the fearsome metal soldiers that had convinced her father to marry off one of his children in the first place. But when Genevieve thought about it, it only made sense Marcie would have some experience fighting them. "I saw your face on a wanted poster," she said. It wasn¡¯t an accusation or even a question, just a statement of fact.


    "Yeah, well¡­ that''s a misunderstandin''." Marcie''s tail flicked the air behind her. "Okay, half a misunderstandin'' and half a he deserved it. Times, uh, five or six. Call it three misunderstandings and three he deserved its."


    "You¡­ get into trouble like this a lot," Genevieve said. If she were thinking straight she probably wouldn¡¯t have said something so pointless, but she was struggling to keep up in more ways than one.


    "I mean, s''not like I''m tryin'' to." Marcie sighed. "S''just, you know. When the creeps in charge are bein¡¯ shitty to people and stuff. I mean, like, back there, right? No one else was doin'' something about it. And it''s just, like, someone should do something about it." They came to a big pile of discarded wood and furniture stacked up in the alleyway, almost fully blocking it. Genevieve assumed it was a makeshift barricade, but nobody would have had time to construct it in the short time they had been running. "So I felt like I had to. Be the one who does something, or whatever."


    Before Genevieve had a chance to ask what they were going to do about the obstruction, Marcie exhaled with a sort of hoo, boy cadence and hopped up onto the furniture pile. She was unnaturally lithe and nimble, her tail out behind her flexing and curling to help her keep balance. With just a couple of graceful, fluid leaps, her athletic body stretching and bounding with ease, she was on top of the pile and bending down to offer Genevieve a hand up. "Here, c''mon."


    It took a fair bit more effort for Genevieve to climb the mountain of debris, scraping and scuffing her already-ruined gown along the way. As soon as she reached the top she stumbled and swayed, nearly losing her footing, and had to crouch down to clutch the overturned dresser beneath her for dear life. Marcie, though, was completely unfazed, standing on the awkwardly angled wooden furniture as easily as if they were still on the ground.


    "Besides," Marcie continued. "I''m like¡­ scary. So folks kinda don''t wanna give me that much leeway. Which is sorta unfair I think but, y''know, it is what it is."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "W-well," Genevieve said. She was a little too busy trying not to fall and split her head open to come up with a response to that. "I, ah¡­ oh dear¡­"


    The nervousness in her voice made Marcie glance down, and only then did she realize the plight Genevieve was in. "Oh!" she said. "Sorry, sorry. Didn''t realize you were, uh. Having trouble. Here, hold on," she said, leaning down to help steady Genevieve. "We''ll hop down real quick. Just stay close. I gotcha."


    The climb down was barely less harrowing, but it only took a few moments before they were back on the ground. Genevieve stood still a moment to make sure her feet were planted firmly on the dusty earth before she started brushing off her dress, as useless as that was. "What is this pile of furniture even doing here?"


    "Oh," Marcie said, "people throw stuff like this up here and there around this part of town. It screws up the metal guards'' tracking. They''re not clever enough to smash through ''em without someone giving an order, so they try to find the long way around. They don¡¯t bother to send humans out this way too often, either, which means you usually get a good few weeks of privacy."


    "I see," Genevieve muttered, trying to wipe some of the dry, crumbling dirt off of her hands. "The spirit of ingenuity I suppose."


    "Folks''ll do anything to keep the cops away." Marcie shrugged. "And can you blame ''em? Cops suck." She leaned her back against the alley wall and then let herself slide down it, settling into a sitting position with a soft ugh. The front of her cloak was open, giving Genevieve her first good look at what she was wearing underneath. A plain off-white shirt with short sleeves, brown pants made from a coarse fiber, and around her waist a thick belt where her two strange pistols were holstered. One of her arms was mostly exposed, but the other had a long, thin cotton sleeve, separate from the shirt, with a padded leather armguard wrapped around it. Genevieve wasn''t sure how much protection that could possibly add, but it seemed to work for her earlier. On her feet she wore thick leather boots with the toes cut off to make room for the two large, curved claws she had at the front of each foot.  "Anyway," she said, "It''ll buy us a bit of time to rest. Sorry, but I kinda need it."


    "Are you sure we can just stop?" Genevieve said, a little more forcefully than she meant to. "They''re still after us. They can¡¯t be far behind. Do we even have a plan to¡­"


    She trailed off when she noticed something dark and wet staining the bottom of Marcie''s pant leg. Instead of saying anything more, Genevieve knelt down by Marcie''s side and rolled her pants up past the ankle to take a better look.


    "Hey, what''re you¨C"


    "You''re bleeding," Genevieve said. There was a gash on the back of her leg where the automaton caught her with its blade. The scales there were damaged, and blood was slowly seeping out through the wound.


    "Well¡­ yeah," Marcie said, looking away from Genevieve. She tapped her knuckle against her scaly blue face. "I got a little more protection than most folks, but there''s still skin n'' blood n'' stuff under there."


    "I wasn''t expecting there to be something else."


    "Good. Cuz there isn''t."


    Are we arguing about this? Genevieve wondered. She genuinely didn''t know. But she decided to just move on. "You''re going to have a difficult time if you keep running on that. At least let me dress it for you."


    "It''s fine," Marcie insisted. "I heal quick. Not, like, instantly or nothing. But give it a day and it''ll sort itself out."


    "Are we planning to sit here behind this stack of chairs for a day?" Genevieve asked, getting just a little bit snarky.


    "No," Marcie admitted.


    "All right. Then let me dress it." Even as she said it, she knew she was being stubborn. If they were back home she could just call up a little bit of healing magic, but all Gryst had to offer was dust and gravel. She didn''t know the first thing about field dressing a wound. And she certainly wasn''t carrying a first aid kit around right now. She was insisting, though, so she just had to follow through.


    She pulled at the short sleeve of her dress, trying to tear off a strip of it, but the fabric was thick and layered and she had no good way to pull it apart. With a grunt, she leaned in closer towards Marcie and presented her shoulder. ¡°Here, rip off some of the fabric for me.¡±


    ¡°Hey, there,¡± Marcie protested. ¡°Again? I¡¯m not a seamstress, y¡¯know. Ripping up clothing ain¡¯t exactly my thing.¡±


    ¡°Just do it,¡± Genevieve said in a stern voice. ¡°This thing¡¯s ruined anyway, and if it wasn¡¯t I still wouldn¡¯t want to keep it. We might as well put it to use.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about the dress, y¡¯know, it¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re concerned about seeing my royal shoulders?¡± Genevieve says, cutting her off with sharp sarcasm.


    ¡°What? No, that¡¯s not¡­¡± Marcie began, but she decided to just give up and shake her head. ¡°Ugh, fine,¡± she said, and she leaned up to grab the shoulder of Genevieve¡¯s dress and rip the sleeve off with her claws. "Just so you know,¡± she said petulantly, ¡°I don''t make a habit of tearin'' up ladies'' dresses. And I''d only ever do it if they asked me to. That¡¯s a fact."


    Genevieve looked at Marcie incredulously. "How can you possibly say something like that with a straight face?"


    "I''m being sincere!" Marcie said. "People see the claws and the teeth and stuff and they always get some kinda weird about it." She huffed and crossed her arms. It was a little cute when she pouted. "I just don''t want anybody thinking I''m some sexed-up brute."


    The more Genevieve had to look at Marcie¡¯s wound, the more aware she was of her complete lack of experience. But she knew you wanted to staunch the bleeding if you could, so she wrapped the dress scrap around Marcie''s ankle as tightly as she could manage. "I can''t claim to know you well, Marcelle Silver," she said as she worked. "But if there''s anything I can say for sure about the last fifteen minutes, it''s that you definitely aren¡¯t a brute."


    Marcie winced as Genevieve pulled the makeshift binding tight and tied it off. "Well, thanks," she said. "I''m glad you think so. I really am trying, believe it or not."


    "I have no reason to doubt you." With nothing better to do, Genevieve scooted over and sat along the wall next to Marcie. The dry, unpaved ground was a little rocky underneath her, but she was well past complaining. "But I have to ask. Do we have somewhere to go? Are we just running until we get caught?"


    "I''ve got somewhere," Marcie said. As she spoke she absent-mindedly scratched at the binding around her ankle.


    "You shouldn''t pick at that," Genevieve said, putting some of the royal authority into her voice.


    "Sorry. It''s just a bit tight."


    "It''s supposed to be, so you don''t bleed all over the place."


    "All right. If you say so." Marcie pulled down her pant leg. "Anyway, I''ve got a friend in town. Their place is hidden away. They shouldn''t be able to find us there."


    "That¡¯s good. So long as there''s a plan." Genevieve took a deep breath, and tried to relax for just a moment. It wasn¡¯t a very long moment. Barely a few seconds had passed when she heard the first hints of shouting and clanking metal on the wind.


    "Well, fuck," Marcie muttered, dragging herself onto her feet. "Guess we''re back on the move." She offered Genevieve a hand. "C''mon. Nice as it is hanging around, break time''s over."


    There was no sense being proud, so Genevieve took Marcie¡¯s hand and let herself be pulled up. "Then let¡¯s keep running."


    They were only one step ahead of Prince Cornelius and his automaton guards. One step was enough. They ran a circuitous route through the back streets, taking shortcuts through alleys and sticking to the parts of the city Marcie knew their pursuers would take longer to reach. Genevieve couldn¡¯t hope to keep track of the winding path they took, but she had to trust Marcie¡¯s sense of direction. No matter what, she couldn¡¯t go back. The devil she knew was far worse than the one that she didn¡¯t.

 Sanctuary

    The cellar door closed behind them with a weighty thud. The light was gone in an instant, and Genevieve was completely blind. She bounced back and forth in place, sucking air through her teeth, not wanting to keep her feet on the unbearably cold stone any longer than she needed to. ¡°Is¡­ this it?¡± she asked, more nervous than she wanted to let on.


    ¡°There¡¯s an entrance. Right over there. Bit of a squeeze, but we¡¯re almost in the clear, promise.¡±


    ¡°Over¡­ where, exactly?¡± How the hell was Genevieve supposed to tell where anything was in the pitch dark? ¡°I can¡¯t see a thing.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot. Lemme just, uh¨Chere. I¡¯m gonna take your hand.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡±


    A rough, scaled hand closed itself around Genevieve¡¯s. She didn¡¯t have time to notice it when they were running, but now the contrast took her by surprise. Princesses were supposed to be pretty and petite, but royal living had never made her feel soft and dainty the way Marcie¡¯s touch did. For the first time in her life, it hadn¡¯t even occurred to someone that she should be treated with delicacy. It was a strange thing to realize. At the very least for how it put everything else into context.


    Genevieve was led to¡­ somewhere in the room. She really had no idea where. She¡¯d only seen a glimpse of it in the sunlight when they first slipped inside, and she hadn¡¯t taken in the layout at all. After just a few steps, though, Marcie let go of her hand. ¡°All right. Hold on. Lemme move this.¡±


    Marcie grunted and Genevieve could hear something being dragged across the floor. Gradually, a small flicker of torchlight appeared through a hole in the wall, roughly three feet tall and wide. ¡°Go ahead,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Gotta crawl through it a bit. I¡¯ll come in after you.¡±


    ¡°Where in the name of the Pulse are you taking me?¡± Genevieve asked. In the dark, all the hesitation she had left behind was catching up to her.


    ¡°S¡¯a little hidey-hole someone I know keeps. Fellow named Lenn. Runs sort of a¡­ religious thing down here. Like, separatist stuff, all talking about how the King runs the church and it¡¯s a corrupt institution and that kinda junk. You¡¯re not exactly allowed to say that in public, so, weird little cavern. I helped them out when they had some trouble with the crown and their metal men a while back, and I wasn''t doin'' it for my own sake or nothing, but technically they owe me. If the Pulse doesn¡¯t fill them with the spirit of altruism or whatever it does to spiritual types, I¡¯ll cash in the favor.¡±


    "And in your estimation this Lenn person is¡­ reliable? Trustworthy?"


    "Ah, sure," Marcie said, her silhouette shifting in front of the tiny bit of light from the hole. "They''re, y''know, the honest kind of devout. Read their books, came to their own conclusions. Decided they were gonna have principles and stick to ¡®em. So, like, the kind of religious type religious types aren¡¯t so fond of, y¡¯know?¡±


    It was a funny way to describe someone. But Genevieve knew what she meant. ¡°It sounds like you think highly of them.¡±


    ¡°I respect ¡®em,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Dunno if that¡¯s the same thing or not.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s close enough.¡± Genevieve took a deep breath and got down on her knees to crawl through the small hole. She was scraped up and worn down, mentally and physically, but she was hoping this would be the last hurdle she¡¯d face for the day. ¡°Wish me luck.¡±


    ¡°Uh.. sure?¡± Marcie said. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m right here, I¡¯m not gonna let nothin¡¯ happen. So you don¡¯t gotta worry about luck. But, uh, have some anyway. Might as well.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to make good use of it.¡± Genevieve crawled through the hole, poking her head out to the other side. She froze in place when she realized that other side was a three-foot drop directly onto the stone floor below.


    ¡°Oh, uh, mind the drop,¡± Marcie said. Apparently it took her until now to remember she should have said something. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a big one.¡±


    ¡°I can see. It¡¯s fine. Let me just swing around here.¡± Genevieve carefully turned her body around and squeezed herself through the entrance, slipping her legs over the ledge so she could carefully drop down feet-first. ¡°Oof,¡± she muttered as her feet hit the stone floor. Once again she took a moment to try and brush herself off. She was getting a little tired of being covered in grit and soil. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she called back to Marcie. ¡°I made it.¡±


    ¡°Knew you had it in ya.¡± Marcie slid through the hole easily, like a cat shrugging its way through a hole in the front door, and dropped onto her feet without any hesitation. Once she was on the ground she turned around and pulled a small handle attached to what Genevieve could now see was a metal container. With surprisingly little effort Marcie slid it back into place, covering up the hole. ¡°We should be in the clear now, or at least as close as we¡¯re gonna get. I¡¯m sure you wanna kick up your feet for a while, so let¡¯s head, uh¡­¡±


    She turned her head to look up and down the tunnel they were in. It was a surprisingly solid, well-crafted stone corridor, with occasional sconces on the wall, some of which were mercifully occupied by lit torches. The underground was still quite dark, but it was much better than stumbling about in pitch blackness.


    ¡°...All right, I haven¡¯t exactly spent a lot of time spelunking down here,¡± Marcie admitted. ¡°So, uh, we might have to just kinda guess. We¡¯ll end up somewhere I recognize eventually, probably.¡±


    ¡°Eventually?¡± Genevieve repeated. ¡°Probably?¡±


    ¡°Hey, look, it¡¯s not a good plan,¡± Marcie said. ¡°But it¡¯s what I got.¡±


    ¡°And more than I have.¡± Genevieve sighed. ¡°So I¡¯ll have to accept it.¡±


    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Sooner we get moving, sooner we get lost.¡± She arbitrarily turned to the right and walked down the hall, waving her hand for Genevieve to follow. ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯re not gonna get anywhere just standin¡¯ still.¡±


    Genevieve followed Marcie down the corridor, and then down another, and another. From what she could tell, the space they were in wasn¡¯t massive, but the dark stone walls were hard to distinguish from one another, and she couldn¡¯t focus enough to map out the area in her head with her feet aching and her stomach still doing backflips. Every now and then they passed a heavy wooden door, but Marcie didn¡¯t seem interested in any of them, so Genevieve assumed she knew they weren''t what they were looking for. Eventually, though, she couldn¡¯t help but ask. ¡°Do you know what¡¯s in there?¡± she asked as they passed a pair of wide double doors.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Marcie glanced over at the door, as though she hadn¡¯t even noticed or thought about it. ¡°Uh¡­ no.¡±


    ¡°Could it be somewhere to stop and sit for a bit, at least?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ probably not. Or, well, I mean, I guess it could be.¡± Marcie stepped up to the door and peered through a small hole set into it. ¡°Eh. Looks like it¡¯s just one of those big libraries or whatever. I mean, there¡¯s probably some chairs inside, like for folks to read, but Lenn wouldn¡¯t want us mucking around too much in there.¡± She turned to look at Genevieve, and considered her for a few moments, her mouth gradually curling into a frown and her brow furrowing. ¡°But¡­ if you just wanna get off your feet for a bit, it¡¯s probably not a big deal so long as we don¡¯t start digging through the records and junk. Assuming we can get the thing open at all, that is.¡± She tried the door handle, and when it didn¡¯t turn, she jiggled at it a few times. That didn¡¯t work either, so she started yanking on the handle forcefully, pulling on the door with so much strength it rattled against the stone with a loud thunk.


    Genevieve opened her mouth to warn Marcie off that plan, but luckily she had enough sense to stop on her own. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s locked,¡± she said in the blunt way Genevieve was learning to expect from her. ¡°Old locks, though, probably not that hard to coax ¡®em open if I really wanted to. Without just blasting them, I mean. That¡¯d work but I don¡¯t wanna make Lenn deal with it.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t need to do any of that. It¡¯s better that you don¡¯t, in fact.¡± Genevieve put an arm on Marcie¡¯s shoulder and gently pulled her back from the door. ¡°Let¡¯s just keep moving. We¡¯re bound to run into something or someone sooner or later, I have to imagine. There¡¯s an old trick about following the right hand wall¨C¡±


    ¡°Who goes there?¡± a steady, level voice called out, interrupting Genevieve in the middle of her thought. The light of a lantern could be seen around the corner, shining into the corridor ahead, and footsteps echoed around the stone walls.


    A tall, lanky figure with a spear in one hand and a lantern in the other walked into the hall. Their skin was khaki, perhaps paled by a lack of sunlight, and they wore a thin wool shirt with grey linen pants that hung baggily on their thin body. They had long, straight, dark brown hair hanging down over one eye, and the bottom half of their face was covered by a scarf wrapped around their head. "If you come in peace,¡± they said, leveling the tip of their spear towards Marcie and Genevieve, ¡°stay where you are."


    If Genevieve was startled by the new arrival, she would have to be startled for two, because Marcie was as unconcerned as ever. "C''mon, Lenn," she said, brushing past the point of the spear without a care in the world. "Who do you think you''re talking to?"


    "Ah. Marcie. It''s you." The tension in their shoulders dropped and they lifted up the spear, setting the base of it on the ground. ¡°I have a front door, you realize.¡±


    ¡°Not while the metal men are out combin¡¯ the city you don¡¯t," Marcie retorted, her tail flicking behind her impishly.


    ¡°In that case, you''re right. I don''t have a front door.¡± Lenn glanced over at Genevieve. They took her in curiously, and Genevieve could tell there were gears turning in their head. "Marcie, tell me. Are those metal men marching through the city because you''ve run off with the Princess our sovereign whelp is meant to wed?"


    "Hey, I didn''t run off with her!" Marcie protested. "I mean¡­ okay I did run off. And she did come with me. We ran off together so, like. I did run off with her. But only in, like¨Cnot in the¨C"


    "Ms. Silver did me a great service," Genevieve said, speaking from the diaphragm as she took a step forward. Diplomacy means busting out the Royal Voice. "I was trapped in a very bad situation, and she saved me from it out of the goodness of her heart. I''m very grateful for her help."


    Lenn sighed, their lamp flickering in the dark hall. "Yes, that''s exactly what she would do. Impulsively, I''m sure, and without an exit strategy." They turned back and walked around the corner they came from, tilting their head to look at Genevieve over their shoulder. "Come with me, then. You can stay here until we figure out what to do next. I have some spare clothes and shoes on hand for those who need them. I¡¯d ask if you want them, but I think I would be a bad host if I didn¡¯t insist."


    ¡°I¡­ thank you,¡± Genevieve said. She was not going to complain for a second, after all she had been through, about a pair of shoes and some clothes that didn¡¯t feel like they were trying to smother her.


    Lenn led them down a long corridor. Unlike Marcie, they actually knew where they were going, and Genevieve finally started feeling like the ordeal was over. At least for now.


    While they walked, Lenn glanced back at Marcie and spoke. ¡°By the way, Marcie. Why did you lead her all the way out here to the archives?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re giving me too much credit, Lenn.¡± Marcie jabbed her thumb randomly at the wall. ¡°I can¡¯t tell where stuff is down here, all the tunnels look the damn same and it¡¯s not like you put up signs.¡±


    ¡°There are signs,¡± Lenn said, indicating a metal plaque on the wall they just passed.


    ¡°Okay, fine, but they¡¯re like a hundred years old and it¡¯s not like any of them say ¡®this way to Lenn¡¯s sketchy dungeon clinic,¡¯ now do they?¡±


    Lenn¡¯s eyes narrowed as they glared at Marcie. ¡°I know you¡¯re being facetious, Marcie,¡± they said. ¡°But I¡¯ve worked very hard to provide care for those the crown would prefer to abandon. And though they¡¯ve fallen into disuse, I have made every effort to reclaim the abbey¡¯s archives as a site that honors the True Pulse and its call to service. So I would greatly appreciate it if you chose not to malign my efforts.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, all right, that was uncalled for. I apologize, Lenn. You¡¯re doin¡¯ good and I don¡¯t wanna take away from that.¡±


    ¡°Apology accepted. All is forgiven.¡± Lenn¡¯s shoulders, which had tensed up considerably, fell back to ease.


    After only another few minutes of walking Lenn turned another corner and opened a door. ¡°Here,¡± they said, holding it open for Genevieve and Marcie. ¡°There are a few spare cots in this room. You can sit down and rest here, if you would like to. And if you wouldn¡¯t like to, you can take that ¡®can¡¯ as a ¡®should,¡¯ and a ¡®will.¡¯ I¡¯m certain that both of you need to rest, and it isn¡¯t my manner to let the tired and worn keep grinding themselves down, no matter how they insist.¡±


    ¡°I assure you I need no convincing at all,¡± Genevieve said.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing fine, though,¡± Marcie said. ¡°I mean, I won¡¯t say no to putting my feet up, but I¡¯m not, like, hurtin¡¯ for it or nothing.¡±


    ¡°I need you to know, Marcie,¡± Lenn monotoned glibly, ¡°that people like are you are exactly the reason I¡¯m so insistent in the first place.¡±


    ¡°People with horns and scales, you mean?¡±


    ¡°People who like acting tough.¡± Once Genevieve and Marcie stepped through the doorway, Lenn followed after them with their lantern. It was a small room, some kind of dormitory by the look of it, with a pair of cots lined up against the far wall and two desks near the door. Before anything else Lenn walked to the desks and lit the candles resting on them with their lantern.


    While they were doing that, Marcie was busy with her own hang-ups. ¡°What d¡¯ya mean, tough?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m tough. I just got more stamina than most. S¡¯not, like, special or nothing, just is what it is.¡±


    ¡°You may have more stamina than most, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can keep going forever. If you aren¡¯t careful, it will creep up on you, and you¡¯ll be worse off than if you had just taken a rest when you could afford to.¡± Lenn gave Marcie a look. ¡°So I would greatly appreciate it if you took a seat for a while.¡±


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s fine,¡± Marcie said, crossing the room to plop herself down on the far cot. ¡°Happy to do it. Don¡¯t gotta be on my case or nothin¡¯.¡±


    Lenn folded their arms across their chest, the skeptical frown they were giving Marcie almost visible through their scarf. ¡°Well,¡± they said in a deadpan. ¡°I¡¯m very glad that I don¡¯t.¡±

 Tourniquet

    While Lenn and Marcie bantered, Genevieve was already throwing herself across the closer of the two cots. It was so good to finally be off her feet. She wasn¡¯t going to spend a single moment longer standing around.


    She laid there for a few moments, letting the bickering fade into the background, until a stray thought came through her mind that made her sit back up. ¡°Ah¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, looking over to Lenn. ¡°You said before that you¡­ provide care? You practice medicine down here?¡±


    ¡°As best as I can,¡± Lenn responded. They looked at Genevieve gravely. ¡°Why, are you injured?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Genevieve said, shrinking back just a bit. ¡°I¡¯m fine. A little scraped up, probably, but fine. One of the metal men caught Marcie¡¯s leg, though. I tried to bandage it for her, but I would be relieved if someone who knew more medicine than I do could take another look.¡±


    Lenn looked at Marcie with their eyebrow raised as if to say, well there you have it. ¡°That¡¯s what I mean about being tough, Marcie. You should have mentioned this to me sooner.¡±


    ¡°Honestly I forgot all about that.¡± Marcie shrugged. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me bein¡¯ tough, that¡¯s just me bein¡¯ dumb.¡±


    ¡°Medically, I can¡¯t advise that either.¡± Lenn took a chair that was left beside one of the desks and brought it to Marcie¡¯s cot. They sat down beside her and rolled up their sleeves. ¡°Put up your leg,¡± they told her. ¡°Let me see the injury.¡±


    Despite her grumbling and griping, Marcie held her leg out towards Lenn. She rolled her pants up to reveal the scrap of cloth Genevieve had tied around the wound. It was thoroughly bloodstained but not quite soaked through. Lenn looked over it for a moment, and then they undid the knot with a few quick, careful tugs. "This is too tight,¡± they said bluntly as they took away the bloody rag. ¡°Much longer and she might have lost the foot." They glanced up at Marcie and considered for a moment. "Well, maybe Marcie wouldn''t have. It''s hard to know with her. But somebody else probably would."


    ¡°Oh,¡± Genevieve said, turning red in the cheeks. ¡°I¨CI¡¯m very sorry. I was just trying to do the best I could with what I had. I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t sweat it,¡± Marcie said, waving her hand. ¡°My foot was asleep for a bit there, but it¡¯s fine. Right, Lenn?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s bleeding, Marcie, so it isn¡¯t fine,¡± Lenn chided. ¡°But yes, it should heal well enough.¡± They glanced over to Genevieve. ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t be ashamed for trying to help. I¡¯m sure it was an unfavorable situation, and you needed to improvise. You were right not to let it bleed.¡±


    Genevieve just nodded quietly. "Thank you," she half-mumbled, barely audible.


    "For what?" Lenn asked. Genevieve withered under their stare. "You did what you could, and now you know how important it is to be prepared for these situations. Even the most basic training is helpful. Tomorrow I can teach you a small bit of first aid, and you will do better next time.¡± They stood, placing Marcie''s leg on their chair, and crossed the room to a metal cabinet mounted on the wall. "I have some gauze here," they said. "Give me a moment to clean the wound and prepare a bandage."


    "Yeah, yeah," Marcie muttered dismissively. "Do your worst, doc."


    "I generally believe my patients deserve better than my worst," Lenn said. They returned to Marcie carrying a sheet of thick gauze, a bandage roll, and a hand towel wrapped around something small and cylindrical. "Even you, Ms. Silver."


    "Aw, shucks," Marcie said sarcastically. She glanced over to Genevieve''s cot. "Ain''t they such a charmer, Jen?" She waved her hand towards Lenn, like she was brushing them off. "You hack."


    Lenn rolled their eyes, indulging in a little bit of theatrical exaggeration. "You are making me rapidly reconsider my position," they deadpanned, even as they carefully and conscientiously cleaned the wound. "This is going to sting a little," they added, and they uncorked the vial that had been tucked inside the towel.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    They carefully splashed a little bit of the liquid inside onto Marcie''s leg and she sucked air through her sharp teeth, making a noise like a balloon being inflated. "Man, you weren''t kidding," she said through tightly clenched fangs.


    "I only rarely am," Lenn responded.


    While they placed the gauze over her leg and expertly bandaged it in place, Marcie looked away from them. Her expression had fallen to a contrite frown. "Ah¡­ sorry about giving you a hard time, though. I did it and then immediately kinda felt bad. It''s just sorta, you know, a reflex."


    "You are nothing if not a creature of reflex," Lenn said.


    "I have no idea how to take that."


    "Take it as it is. A simple observation, no more or less." They tied the bandage off with a precise knot and double checked to make sure it was set properly in place. "There," they said, standing up. "Try to stay off it as much as you can until it''s healed on its own. And yes, I know that will come quickly. But I don''t care to gamble on whether you can heal gangrenous tissue, so we are going to keep the wound clean and the bandage on regardless."


    "C''mon, Lenn, I''m not that dumb." Marcie crosses her arms. "Seen my share of nasty flesh stuff, bandaged plenty of my own. I don''t like testing my luck just to test if. I''m just not interested in getting all fussed and worried about stuff. Lotta energy to waste making yourself feel like shit, if you ask me."


    Genevieve, having spent a while quietly listening and reflecting, lifted her head up to stare at Marcie. "Wait a second," she said. "You''ve bandaged plenty of your own wounds?"


    "Well, not just my own. But I mean, every now and then, yeah. I''m not an expert or nothin'', far from it, but, y''know¡­ stuff happens. Y''get hurt, folks get hurt, your dad blows his damn finger off. And you wanna get a proper doctor type to deal with it A.S.A.P. but, like, in the meantime, you just gotta patch up what y''can and hope it works out."


    "Then why the hell did you let me do it before?" Genevieve demanded, red in the face all over again.


    "Oh. Uh." Marcie looked at Genevieve, then at her bandaged leg. The gears in her brain turned and turned and rattled and tried to shake themselves loose. Her expression said it all: why did I let her do that? Why did this question never occur to me? How am I even supposed to remember?


    "...I dunno," she finally said. "In the moment you seemed like you really needed to be in charge of things. So I guess I just sorta went along with it?"


    Awkward silence fell over the room. Lenn glanced between the two girls, and then they stood up from their chair. "I am going to pull out some clothes for you," they said to Genevieve. "You should be about¡­ hm." They approached Genevieve, placed one hand palm up on the bed next to her, and then put their other hand by her shoulder. "Yes, I should have something that will fit, or at least near enough to it." With the same curt yet dedicated manner they had shown Marcie, they turned around and headed briskly towards the door. "I''ll be back shortly. You can keep resting here until then."


    Once they left the room fell quiet, and it took a few moments before Marcie decided to break the silence. "Uh¡­ sorry if you''re, like, mad at me."


    "I''m not mad at you, Marcie," Genevieve said, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. "I''m only mad at myself." She rocked her foot against the cot, which made a quiet squealing sound in protest. "Typical royal behavior, isn''t it? Taking command of a situation, thinking that you know better, when in truth you know nothing at all?"


    "Ah¡­ I don''t think it''s like that." Marcie frowned and stared at the floor under her cot. "I mean, I figure, if I put myself in your shoes, like. You got that whole wedding situation you didn''t ask for, probably didn''t get a say in the whole thing at all if I had to guess, I know princesses don¡¯t usually get a lot of say when they¡¯re married off. And then in the end you only got away ''cause some stranger happened to drop in and decide it was her place to meddle with other people''s problems."


    "I never said you were meddling.¡±


    "Nah, you didn''t, I''m just saying, it was meddling. I did meddle." Marcie shrugged nonchalantly. "Sometimes you need to meddle. Minding your own business is well and good, but at some point you gotta step off the line a little and lend a hand where one''s needed. I got no qualms about that." She glanced again in Genevieve''s direction. "Point is just, like, all that stuff was out of your hands. And I gotta imagine that''s awful miserable, right? If it were me I''d feel pretty powerless and probably a little pissed off. So, like, trying to take a bit of control back, insistin'' that you''re gonna help someone¨CI get it. It''s not like there''s anything wrong with wanting a little say in your own fate, or whatever. That''s not royal behavior, that''s just, like¡­ person who wants to live their own life behavior. Least that''s how it seems to me."


    Genevieve considered for a moment, and then shook her head with a little smile. "And you''re a psychologist, too?" she joked.


    "What? Naw. No. I''m just, like¡­ calling it the way I see it." Marcie frowned, still avoiding Genevieve¡¯s eyes. "Sorry if I''m being. Like. Presumptuous."


    "No, no, it''s fine," Genevieve said. "I''m only teasing." She looked at Marcie and smiled bigger, warmly. "Thank you for meddling in my business."


    "Oh. You''re¡­ welcome?" Marcie said. The conversation seemed to have lost her a bit. Genevieve could practically see the question mark drawn in the air above her head. But in its own way, that was kind of charming.

 Spikes

    Once again Genevieve found herself considering Marcie, even just on a physical level. The girl had scales, of all things in the Pulse. A tail. Those little nubby horns. She was a little on the small side, but quick and athletic, fit, toned. Even attractive, if Genevieve was being completely, fully objective about it. Certainly in the way that any fleet-footed tomboy with sharp claws and sharper teeth would be attractive.


    While Genevieve was doing her best not to look like she was staring, Marcie surprised her by suddenly stretching out with a big yawn. "Ah, geeze," she muttered to herself. She leaned down to pull her boots off of her feet, a slow and careful process, since she had to slip them around those large, sharp claws. Once they were off she kicked them absent-mindedly across the floor, and threw herself back to flop on the cot, almost jumping into a perfect supine landing with just a little bounce. She laced her hands together behind her head to lay on them, but a frown crossed her face and she grumbled to herself. "Ugh. Gotta take this thing off."


    With only some minor fumbling she detached the straps holding the leather padding around her right arm in place, and dropped it off to her side. Then she slipped off the sleeve, revealing that her entire arm was covered in hard black spikes. Genevieve wasn''t sure if they were bone or keratin or something else, but they came out at a sharp angle, curving to be almost but not quite flush with Marcie''s arm, and traveled up from just above her wrist until halfway past her elbow, growing gradually but noticeably larger the further up her arm they went. The way they jutted out of her body looked uncomfortable, but Marcie didn''t seem bothered by them as she ran her hand along the underside of her arm and shook it out lazily.


    It was an unexpected sight, and Genevieve found herself openly staring, forgetting to be polite while she tried to imagine what it would feel like to have something like that growing out of you.


    Eventually the gawking was conspicuous enough even Marcie had to notice it. "Oh, uh¡­ yeah." She held up her arm with a little grimace. "This one''s like, spiky. It''s kind of a pain, cuz they get caught on stuff a lot, so, uh." She picked up the armguard and dangled it from one claw. "The padding." With a slight tilt of her hand she tossed it aside again. "But it''s kinda restrictive and it gets all sweaty and stuff¨CI do sweat, I''m not a reptile, just for the record¨Cso, it''s, y''know, there''s no real winning with it, just gotta deal."


    Genevieve kept looking at her, trying to make sense of her. "Marcie¡­" she began to say, but once she considered the question she wanted to ask, she stopped herself and shook her head. "No, nevermind."


    "Something wrong?" Marcie asked.


    "Nothing''s wrong, no.¡±


    "So why''d you start saying something and then just stop?"


    "It was just¨CI just realized it was a rude question to ask."


    "Well, go for it anyway. It''s one thing to be polite but at some point you''re not being polite you''re just being fake." Marcie rolled onto her side, her spiked arm up so as not to stab the cot, and almost hung off the bed as she leaned to look at Genevieve. "And besides, you can''t really be rude if you''re just askin'' an honest question, far as I figure."


    "Fine, then," Genevieve said, and she took a deep breath to steel herself before blurting it out. "Marcelle Silver¡­ are you¡­ human?"


    "Ah. Yeah, all right, I guess that one is a little bit rude." Marcie sat up on the cot, scooching herself back so she wasn''t dangling off it so precariously. "S''fair enough, though. Might as well address th'' scaly blue devil in the room."


    As she spoke Marcie reached around her back, arching herself slightly, and scratched an itch between her shoulder blades with a grunt. Crass as it was, Genevieve found herself again impressed and slightly disconcerted by her flexibility


    "So, the answer''s, uh¡­ mostly?" Marcie shrugged. "My dad''s all the way human. And ''cording to him my other dad was half human an'' half devil. So that makes me a good three-fourths human. Passing grade, just about." She tilted her head and rubbed her chin awkwardly. "Not that there''s, like. Actually a grade. Or that I''d need to pass it or anything. It''s just, like, a turn of phrase, y''know?" Her hand went back down on the cot. "Point is I''m more human than not, so I figure I should count. If folks think otherwise that''s their problem."


    "I guess that''s¡­ fair enough." Genevieve really didn''t know what to make of everything Marcie was saying. "Your¡­ other father?" she asked, picking at the first of many questions floating through her mind.


    "It''s a long story.¡± Marcie¡¯s eyes darted away from Genevieve¡¯s face. She rarely made eye contact while she was talking, Genevieve had noticed, but she usually made an effort to look more or less in her direction. At least until something came up that made her uncomfortable. "I never met the guy. Dad says he stayed the night, left in the morning, and then a good ten months later there I was all bundled up on the doorstep."


    "Oh." Genevieve wasn''t sure if that made things more or less clear. "I''m sorry to hear that."


    "Why?" Marcie said, cocking an eyebrow. "I told it to ya. And I had a good home and a loving parent and all so I''m not about to complain. Lotsa folks got it way worse."


    "That¡¯s¡­ a good way to look at it. I think." It felt improper to keep digging, so Genevieve tried to come up with some way to change the subject. There was something floating around in the back of her head she just couldn''t shake free from, though. And before she realized what she was saying, she asked out loud, "but, your other father, how did he¨C?"The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "The same way anyone does," Marcie said, cutting her off before she could finish the question. "I''d rather not explain how givin'' birth works, if that''s all right."


    "N-no, no, you definitely don''t need to don''t that," Genevieve said, waving her arms emphatically. "I''m so sorry. That was a terribly awkward thing to ask."


    "Eh¡­ yeah. Kinda." Marcie leaned back on her palms. "But it''s fine. Don''t sweat it. I know my whole situation''s not exactly, y''know. Typical. I mean, c''mon, I got horns and shit, awkward questions just kinda come with being alive."


    "I guess they would have to." A wave of shame washed over Genevieve, flowing into her cheeks. She could feel them burning as she tried to save face. "I am sorry I contributed to that. I didn¡¯t mean to pry into your personal business. I just¡­ well¡­"


    "You were curious," Marcie said with a shrug. "People''s curious. Just how they are. And everyone''s heard some story or another ''bout some soul who was born from a devil, but nobody''s ever seen one. So every time I meet folks, there you go. I''m that one. I''d be curious if I were in your place, too. So, like¡­ it''s really fine. I''m not gonna hold it against you."


    Genevieve crossed her legs on the thin, lightweight mattress under her and turned around to face Marcie¡¯s cot. ¡°I do feel badly, though, being so impolite after you¡¯ve gone so far out of your way for my sake. I¡¯d share some of my own deep dark secrets in return, but I don¡¯t know that I have much of interest to tell. Castle life is rather more dull than people imagine, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± Marcie cocked her head. ¡°Don¡¯t y¡¯all have newsmen down, uh¡­ south, isn¡¯t it? Verdane? Am I remembering that right?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s correct,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°And we have newsmen, of course. Plenty of them, putting out boot-licking rags every single day.¡±


    ¡°Not a fan of the free press or whatever?¡± Marcie asked, leaning back against the wall behind her.


    ¡°If anything I wish they were more free. Or rather, more interested in printing anything of worth.¡± Genevieve¡¯s lips puckered at the sour taste in her mouth. ¡°My father is quite popular, at least with the comfortable classes. And he isn¡¯t a bad king, I would not go so far as to say that. But he¡¯s¡­ unimaginative, or at least, uninterested in changing much. Our kingdom has a measure of peace, and it¡¯s easy enough for him to repress any conflicts that do arise. The farmers or the artisans or the dockworkers make a fuss about being taxed too much, working too many hours, being injured or mistreated, all sorts of things. They strike about it a while, the managing committees refuse to budge, and it gets dragged out just long enough that when father comes in to suggest a five percent pay increase and abbreviated Sunday hours everyone accepts it as some grand benevolent gesture and the whole thing gets forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Gotcha. Gotcha. Riveting stuff.¡± Marcie looked at Genevieve without turning her head, looking at her out of the corner of her eye. ¡°I guess your papers really don¡¯t have any big crazy scandals to write about, huh?¡±


    The comment took Genevieve off guard, and after a second of stunned silence she began to laugh. ¡°No¡­ I suppose not. Not like you must have around here, with that ghoul Prince making a show of himself.  But they try to drum up what they can.¡± She sighed softly. ¡°Still, that¡¯s precisely what I mean, do you see? Nobody cares to cover what mere workers are concerned about. There¡¯s not much scandal in ¡®the King brought the strike to the end in an underwhelming manner. Underlying issues failed to be resolved! Read the evening edition for all the juicy details!¡¯¡± She chuckled again. ¡°No, much more lucrative to find some minor social faux pas I made to blare across the front pages. ¡®Princess Genevieve wiped her mouth with her hand napkin at royal banquet¨Chas any girl ever been more disrespectful?¡¯¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t do that, would you?¡± Marcie said. Her deadpan voice made it a little hard to tell she was joking, but Genevieve had to believe she was. ¡°Use the wrong¡­ napkin?¡± Her brow furrowed in vague consternation. ¡°Is that a thing? Mouth napkins?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a thing,¡± Genevieve reassured her. ¡°But they would probably make it into something, just to have an excuse to yell at me for it. And then they¡¯d find some scholar of etiquette who dug up a 300 year old manuscript from the catacombs beneath the royal library, all about how the napkin rule is a deeply integral, fundamental pillar of our kingdom¡¯s culture and history.¡± She sighed and allowed herself to fall over onto the cot. ¡°It all got very tedious, to say the least. But it¡¯s a little silly of me to complain about something like that, given I¡¯ve found myself with much larger problems.¡±


    ¡°Eh, I mean, it sounds like a pain in the ass. And I definitely wouldn¡¯t want to live in a world where I had to worry about napkin rules or whatever. People make up enough dumbass rules just for like regular person stuff, all that courtly bullshit seems like a living hell far as I¡¯m concerned.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t call it a living hell,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°Pain in the ass, certainly. But I try to keep perspective on the life I¡¯ve lead. And it¡¯s a small price to pay, in the end, for all that luxury.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just cuz I don¡¯t know from fancy,¡± Marcie said, picking idly at her teeth. ¡°But you couldn¡¯t pay me enough to deal with luxury. Doesn¡¯t seem like all it¡¯s cracked up to be. And it¡¯s all fucking complicated, too. Give me hardtack and gunpowder any day, at least that¡¯s nice and simple.¡±


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say I fully miss all the vagaries of palace life,¡± Genevieve admitted with a sigh. ¡°But I do miss home. Quite a lot.¡±


    ¡°A little homesick¡¯s normal, I think. ¡®Specially when you don¡¯t wanna be where you are. Hell, I don¡¯t mind where I am all that much, but every now and then I think about my dad¡¯s workshop and I can¡¯t pretend I don¡¯t miss the place. I knew where the tools were and they were all just the way I liked ¡®em, you know? Or at least I knew how to adjust ¡®em back from whatever goofy ass thing dad was doing.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, but it¡¯s deeper than just missing the familiar things I knew at home.¡± Genevieve pulled herself up to sit back on the cot again and looked down at her hands, remembering how it felt to have that vital, pulsing, invigorating sensation of life bouncing between her fingers.  ¡°I had a bit of a green thumb, back home¨Ca knack for our sylvan magic. But this land doesn¡¯t have magic, and it certainly doesn¡¯t have forests. It¡¯s left me feeling¡­ dry. Empty, somehow. Useless. I never imagined, before I came here, that there was a place in this world where you couldn¡¯t feel the life all around you. Being separated from it was the biggest shock I had ever felt, when I got shipped off to this place. To this Prince.¡±


    Genevieve pulled her legs up to her chest and stared down at the cot. She was quiet for a long, long moment. And Marcie spent the whole time being quiet too, except for the rustling of her clothes as she awkwardly fidgeted in her place. Finally, after enough time in silence that she must have been going a little bit mad, Marcie spoke up to say, ¡°That, uh¡­ that sounds like it really sucks.¡±


    Genevieve chuckled darkly. ¡°Yeah. It kind of does.¡±

 Gunpowder

    There was a lull in the conversation. Genevieve felt her mind start to wander, back to the Prince and his palace. His machines. The hole in Gryst where the magic should be. But she wasn¡¯t going to let herself spiral. When she felt her thoughts turning dark, she threw herself back on the cot and kicked her feet out straight. ¡°All right, enough! Enough feeling sorry for myself. I¡¯m lost and scared as it is, I don¡¯t need to wallow in that. Tomorrow will be a new morning, and I¡¯ll decide what to do with myself from there.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Marcie said. ¡°All right. Sure. That sounds like a plan. All power to¡­ not wallowing. Um.¡± She looked around the room and scratched the top of her head. ¡°I¡¯m really bad at this, sorry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re fine, Marcie,¡± Genevieve said with a little smile. ¡°Perfectly fine as you are.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Uh. Good, then. I¡¯m, uh¡­ glad about that. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯m glad about that, right?¡±


    ¡°I would be if I were you.¡± Genevieve turned over onto her stomach took another look at her, thinking over the day¡¯s events. ¡°Actually,¡± she said, ¡°I did have something else I wanted to ask about, if it¡¯s all right. Nothing so personal this time. At least, I don¡¯t think it should be personal.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, all right,¡± Marcie said. ¡°Shoot.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll leave that to you. You¡¯re certainly better at it than I would be.¡±


    ¡°Wh¨Coh. Yeah. Shoot. Okay.¡± Marcie rolled her eyes. ¡°Are you gonna ask your question or what?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was kind of about that, actually.¡± Genevieve scooted herself back up to sit closer to Marcie¡¯s cot. ¡°That gun you were using¨Cwhat is it, exactly? I¡¯ve seen black powder pistols before, but nothing like what you¡¯re using.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure. I mean, they¡¯re not like, mass produced or anything. I built them myself, so they¡¯re, y¡¯know. Unique.¡± She unholsters one of her guns and holds it up, taking very deliberate care not to point it at anyone or anything that might be inadvertently damaged. ¡°The design¡¯s mostly based on my dad¡¯s work, plus a few personal touches and¡­ some other stuff I picked up ¡®long the way.¡±


    Marcie moves over close to Genevieve, and holds the gun out so she can get a closer look at it. The overall shape of it was close enough to the firearms Genevieve had seen back home, but it was a sleeker, more sophisticated design, made of polished, precisely cut metal. If Marcie had really constructed it by hand, Genevieve was impressed by her craftsmanship. The long barrel led back to a wide metal cylinder, which stuck out from the sides and gave the whole thing a broader profile. Past the cylinder, the back of the pistol was flat and boxy, with a sort of metal tab poking out of the top, and a curved handle with a wooden grip at the bottom. All in all, Genevieve could safely say she had absolutely no idea what she was looking at. She knew Gryst made more extensive use of gunpowder than her home, but she was surprised at just how much farther they had gone with it.


    Marcie kept her finger away from the trigger while she let Genevieve look it over. "The revolvin'' cylinder here," she said, and she spun the cylinder in question to demonstrate, ¡°that¡¯s one of Dad¡¯s big inventions. Lets you have more rounds at hand, so you don''t gotta reload after each one. The first ones we made were a little bulky, though, so I found a way to slim it down, make the action a little smoother. Then I met this woman¡­ uh, it was weird? It was like a whole weird thing. But she had a bunch of these, like, diagrams and whatever, for different types of guns and bombs and junk. Pretty scary stuff, honestly, lot of it wigged me out real good. But there were a few ideas in there I figured I could probably use without, like, it bein'' a crime against humanity or nothing. So I added this mechanism to, like¡­"If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She held the gun in her hand, carefully pointed down away from anything a stray shot could damage, and pulled back that metal tab on the back of the gun. A heavy bullet wrapped in a brass casing popped out of the top, and she snatched it out of the air casually. "So, like, when you pull the trigger, the bullet fires, and there''s a buncha force blastin'' back through the barrel, which makes this thing here pop back and knock out the empty case. And then the trigger also rotates the cylinder, that took some figuring with everything else the mechanism has to do, and you gotta kinda pull hard for it, but it means the thing just kinda goes for you without too much hassle?"


    Genevieve wasn''t following at all, but she listened politely, and Marcie was deep enough in her explanation she had all but forgotten her audience.


    "Uh, and all this stuff was a pain to work out, and I could never figure out a good way to make something like this quick or cheap enough to be practical, but, basically. You fire the thing, it rotates the cylinder one way¨C" she turned the mechanism one step forward to demonstrate¨C "and then you rotate it back the other with your hand." She does just that, and the gun makes a distinct click. "And that loads a bullet back into the chamber, outta the, like¡­"


    She pressed down a switch on the side of the gun''s handle, near the trigger, and a metal box slid out of the bottom. "This thing. The box in there. These are motherfuckers, there''s a whole spring thing, I made a bunch last time I was at a workshop but I gotta be kinda careful with em cuz it''ll be such a pain in the dick to make more. But, like, they just hold a buncha bullets?" She slipped the bullet she caught before into the case, pushing the stack under it down, and placed the box back into the gun''s handle. "So basically, when you fire all the cylinders you got loaded, you just give it a spin and bam, you''re full up. And I got pretty good at loading the clips there with my tail, so any time I have a second I can just slap one in and be ready to load back up next time I''m empty."


    "That seems¡­ incredibly convoluted." Genevieve tilted her head, contemplating. "I''m¡­ not sure I followed any of that, to be honest. But¡­ if you have those boxes there, loading the, uh, the cylinder¡­ I mean, you could do away with the cylinder, right? Just have the barrel, like a normal pistol? And the box can put the bullet right into that?"


    Marcie looked down at her gun and thought for a long moment. "Hm,¡± she said. ¡°I mean, I did think about it. That was one of the designs we were working on, trying to slim the thing down. Make somethin¡¯ easier to build. Dad might¡¯ve cracked it by now, too, but since I was making a weapon just for me¡­ I dunno, I liked this way more. Somethin¡¯ tactile to the mechanics of it. You know?¡±


    "I''m¡­ not sure that I do." Genevieve couldn¡¯t help feeling like she¡¯d waded into something about Marcie she didn¡¯t fully understand. Some nexus of habit and sentimentality that was beyond her. It was hard to imagine having those sorts of feelings tied up with a weapon. Certainly not something as frightening and deadly as a gun.


    Before either of them had to figure out how to continue the conversation, the door opened and Lenn walked in carrying a pair of shoes and a shirt and pants draped over their arm. Their timing was so convenient Genevieve had to wonder if they hadn''t been simply waiting outside, letting them talk. She wasn''t about to question it, though, as she had never been happier to see a pair of shoes in her life.


    "Thank you," she said, turning around to sit on the edge of her cot. "I appreciate it very much."


    "Say nothing of it." Lenn handed Genevieve the shoes, and put the clothes down on the bed next to her. "There''s another room just down the way, if you want to get changed now. Would you like me to show you the way?"


    Genevieve eagerly slipped on the shoes and stood up. It was an incredible relief not to have her feet freezing on the cold stone floor. ¡°Is it far?¡± she asked.


    Lenn shook their head. ¡°Not at all. If you leave the room and take a left, it¡¯s the very next door just beyond this one.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll go myself,¡± Genevieve said. She picked up the small bundle of clothes on the cot. ¡°I¡¯m a grown woman, I can manage ten steps down a hallway without getting lost.¡±


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t expected otherwise.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll only be a moment, then.¡± Genevieve bowed her head politely and headed for the door.


    ¡°See ya soon,¡± Marcie said with a casual one-handed half-wave.


    ¡°And you, dear Ms. Silver.¡± The tiniest bit of playful sarcasm on her tongue, Genevieve opened the door and stepped outside into the dimly-lit hallway.

 Wardrobe

    Genevieve followed Lenn¡¯s instructions and turned left down the hall. Her footsteps echoed around her, and she realized all at once how eerie it was going to be walking alone through an empty underground corridor. But she was far too tired and far too strung out to let herself be afraid of something silly like the solitude of a dark, forgotten basement labyrinth. She walked forward confidently, one step after another after another, and she didn¡¯t see the door Lenn had promised, so she walked a few steps more. And a few more after that.


    Logically she knew that she hadn¡¯t gone very far at all, but her mind was already turning to paranoia. What if she had walked past the door without realizing? There was bound to be another door past it, and anything could be in there. Maybe even something she wasn¡¯t supposed to see. Lenn could be doing anything down here. Storing horrible monsters to devour their victims, or dismembering corpses in sick, sadistic rituals to honor some twisted version of the Pulse, or smuggling priceless stolen jewels they couldn¡¯t afford to let anyone, even a princess, walk away knowing about. For all she knew, she had been led into a nefarious trap, and some horrible fate beyond her worst imagining was waiting for her just around the corner.


    Once she actually thought about it, of course, she knew that was all ridiculous. Lenn was stern, but they seemed sincere. Genevieve couldn¡¯t bring herself to believe they had ill intentions. And it was harder to believe Marcie had the capacity to trick anybody. She was as guileless and goofily charming as a well-loved hound, and that wasn¡¯t an insult. Genevieve quite liked dogs. Marcie just didn¡¯t seem inclined to lead someone into a murder basement, let alone a murder catacomb. As strange and unlikely as the day¡¯s events had been, it would only be even stranger if it was all somehow an elaborate ruse to capture her in¡­ what? What would there even be down here?


    So her fears were unfounded, when she actually thought about them. But that required her to think about them, which did not, as it turned out, do much to quell the irrational part of her brain trying to find something to be afraid of down here in the cold and the dark. Even after she dismissed her most sensationalist fantasies, a part of her started to worry there was a chance, however slim, that this hallway went on forever and there were no doors to leave it. That voice only went silent once she yanked herself out of her head and realized there was in fact a door directly to her left.


    ¡°You can be a very silly girl sometimes, Genevieve,¡± she muttered before she gripped the door handle and stepped inside.


    Any fears she had about the room itself were equally unfounded, as it was just another dormitory like the one she had come from, albeit one filled with a few more cots. There wasn¡¯t any light inside, but that was easily remedied by picking up a candle near the door and lighting it with one of the torches outside. Once she had a bit of light to see by and a moment to gather her thoughts, she took a deep breath and threw the paranoid anxieties of her exhausted mind aside. There was no point being afraid of monsters in the dark. She had a real monster to face. It was finally time to deal with the damn gown.


    The accursed thing wasn¡¯t meant to be removed by the wearer on their own. Genevieve chose to take that as a challenge. After everything that had happened through the day, her failure to save herself, all of the running around and relying on the kindness of strangers, she needed catharsis. She needed a struggle. She needed to tear the pile of rags apart with her own two hands.


    First she tried to slip it off over her head, but it was too snug around her shoulders to just come off. She grabbed and tugged at the back of the collar to try and undo the zipper forcefully, but it was secure enough she only managed to move it down a few teeth. Pulling her arms in through the sleeves was briefly successful, but it all fell apart once she realized she¡¯d just gotten herself stuck with her arms pinned inside the gown. She fell over onto one of the cots, struggling and flailing, a wild animal caught in a bundle of sheets, until finally, after a great amount of effort and a few busted seams, she managed to get her arms free and throw the beast off. It fell to the ground in a tattered, unceremonious pile, and that¡¯s where it was going to stay.


    Genevieve gave herself a few minutes to let the adrenaline fade. It was even chillier now, wearing only the lacy undergarments she¡¯d been made to wear under her wedding gown. She was going to need to do something about those, but that was a problem for another day. For now she unlaced her corset and tossed it aside¨Cmore than happy to be done with it¨Cand undid the garters on her legs, casting them onto the top of the dress pile.


    Finally, she put on the clothes Lenn had prepared for her. The shirt was plain wool, sort of a creamy off-white, and a little bit big on her, but it was comfortable and very welcome in the chilly underground. She had to take her shoes off for a moment to put on her pants, but she slipped them back on as soon as she could. You didn''t truly appreciate a pair of shoes until you spent the better part of an hour running barefoot through the city streets.


    I must look like a mess, she thought to herself. All the running and tumbling would have ruined her hair, and the ridiculous makeup they put on her was bound to be runny and absolutely grotesque. She took a moment to bury her face in the gown and wipe off as much of it as she possibly could, which might have helped, but it couldn¡¯t have been by much. She was still covered in smeared makeup and partially-melted hair product, standing in some kind of abandoned conservatory wearing dirty second-hand men¡¯s clothes.


    It was the most herself she had felt since she arrived in Gryst.


    After blowing out the candle, she left the room and returned to the dormitory she had come from¨Cwithout spiraling into any paranoid fantasies this time. Stepping inside she found Lenn at one of the desks, with their scarf down beneath their neck and a pensive expression on their face. She didn¡¯t know what she expected them to look like, but their face was perfectly normal¨Cslender and elegant, with a tiny hint of stubble. When they saw her enter, though, they pulled the scarf back up to cover their mouth and nose. ¡°You look surprised,¡± they said. ¡°Not to worry. My face is hardly a secret.¡± Genevieve¡¯s expression must have been easy to read. ¡°I only cover it because I work with the sick, and the scarf is woven to limit the spread of sickness to others. It may not be necessary just sitting here with you, but I view it as a symbol of my dedication to the work.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°I admit I was wondering.¡± She knew the doctors back home sometimes wore masks for similar reasons, though theirs did not have the same flair as Lenn¡¯s finely-made scarf. ¡°I left the gown in the other room,¡± she added. ¡°I apologize. But I simply did not want to look at it any longer. I will move it in the morning.¡±


    Lenn held up a hand and brushed it across the air, discarding Genevieve¡¯s suggestion. ¡°Do not worry about that. I will scrap the fabric and find a use for it.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°Thank you very much.¡± She glanced around the room, which was conspicuously quiet. ¡°Where¡¯s Marcie?¡±


    ¡°She went to relieve herself.¡±


    ¡°Oh." Genevieve tried to cover her embarrassment with a cough. "Do you have a, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°At the end of the hall to the right,¡± Lenn said. ¡°It isn¡¯t the most pleasant arrangement, but I make sure to empty it regularly.¡± They certainly got to the point.


    "Well, that is good to know." Just standing in the doorway felt strange, so Genevieve went to sit down on her cot. "Thank you for all of this," she said. "I know I have said it before, but¡­ I am grateful to you. And to Marcie as well. I would be much worse off without what you''ve both done."


    "You are welcome. I¡¯m happy to lend my aid. And Marcie may not remember to say it, but she is also happy to help, in the way that she does." Lenn looked at Genevieve, a curious, almost interrogatory glint in their eye. "She''s a strange girl, isn''t she?" they asked, folding their arms as they leaned back in their seat.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "I''ve certainly never met anyone like her." Genevieve fidgeted awkwardly on the cot, worried about agitating her stern benefactor. "I am sorry we have brought all this trouble to your door," she said meekly, trying to show humility as best as she could.


    "You don¡¯t need to apologize," Lenn said. "You aren¡¯t doing wrong by needing help, or by asking for it. And the only payment I will ask, Princess, is that when you find yourself in a position to care for those in need, you offer them aid in turn."


    "That¡­ is a fair request." Genevieve slowly nodded her assent. "I promise I will do as you ask."


    "Then all debts are settled." Lenn clapped their hands together, and Genevieve assumed that meant the deal was sealed. "We are here in this world to serve one another, Lady Genevieve. To reach out our hands and hold each other tightly, so that we all may survive the storm. That is the nature of the True Pulse that runs through all of us. And those who live only to serve their own interests, the interests of their own clan or name or crown or nation, defile themselves before it."


    "I see why you aren''t popular with Cornelius and his father," Genevieve said wryly. "I''m not sure that philosophy would be accepted by any sovereign. ¡®The Pulse guides the People to their King, and the King to his People.¡¯ As my father loved to say. He always told me that serving the people was our duty.¡± And he took it for granted that the people¡¯s duty was to serve us, she thought. But she didn¡¯t want to slander her father in front of Lenn, so she kept the editorializing to herself.


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s a convenient fiction, isn¡¯t it?¡± Lenn rested their arm on the desk and their head on their fist, watching Genevieve¡¯s reactions curiously. ¡°We absolve ourselves of our duty to each other. Sacrifice our unity and our solidarity to a monarch who will find any reason he pleases to discard those he can¡¯t, or does not wish to, see. And when we watch them suffer we say to ourselves¨Cif not even the King can save them, how could we mere humans? Perhaps the light does not shine on them because they do not deserve it.¡± They sit up again and shake their head disapprovingly. ¡°It is our nature to lift one another up. But it is easy to be self-serving and cowardly. And so we take the excuses we are given to choose the lesser path.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an¡­ interesting thought.¡± Genevieve looked down at the bed for a while, quietly thinking. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can agree. It would be hypocritical of me, at the very least. But I can¡¯t deny you make a good case.¡± She glanced up at Lenn, and after a bit of consideration, gave them a little grin. ¡°It¡¯s definitely heresy. But I won¡¯t tell anybody. You¡¯ve shown me more generosity than any of the cardinals I knew back home, so maybe there¡¯s something to being a heretic.¡±


    "The church above can call it heresy if they like. It remains true all the same." Lenn shrugged theatrically, spreading out their arms. "Those who find it inconvenient can reject it all they wish. Truth does not bend to power."


    "I have no power to speak of now," Genevieve said, "and I would not challenge your truth even if I could.¡± She crossed her legs and sat up on the cot, holding her hands politely in her lap. ¡°I hope that we can get along, regardless of my station."


    "You hold no station here," Lenn answered. "Princess is only a word, and I am not swayed by it. If that is acceptable to you, then you are acceptable to me."


    "Honestly, it sounds like a nice change of pace," Genevieve said. "The last few months have left me with little regard for titles."


    "I see. In that case, then." Lenn dipped their head just slightly in an informal bow. "It is nice to meet you, Genevieve."


    "And it''s nice to meet you, Lenn." Genevieve stood up to pantomime a little curtsy before dropping back down onto the cot. "I''m grateful for your hospitality. You''re not as surly as I thought you were, when we first arrived.¡±


    "If I seemed blunt,¡± Lenn said, ¡°it was only because that is what Marcie responds to. She is a cudgel of a woman, and stubborn as concrete. If you don¡¯t tell her plainly how things are, she won¡¯t understand your meaning. And you can''t speak to a powder keg in ambiguities. "


    "A powder keg?" Genevieve asked, tilting her head curiously. "You think that she is volatile?"


    "I think that she is Marcelle," Lenn said. "Daughter of war. Conflict is in her nature." Their eyes lowered slightly, and they spoke with a sense of distant remorse. "The world could not let someone like her be. And even if it did, she could not let the world as it is stand."


    "I don''t know," Genevieve said. "She doesn''t sound like some crazed warrior when you talk to her. It seems like she just wants to do the right thing, in her way."


    "That is precisely what I mean."


    "I don''t follow," Genevieve said. "Why should wanting to do the right thing mean she''s, what, destined for conflict?"


    "Because she does not know how to stay her hand." Lenn shifted in their chair, leaning their arm against the desk beside them. "It isn''t a bad thing. The Pulse gave us all our own talents and our own paths, so that we could help each other in different ways. Sometimes you need a person who will look into the face of evil and choose war. But that does mean she has a way of attracting trouble. Or rather that trouble has a way of attracting her. And when she encounters it, things will always end the same way."


    "Gunshots, explosions, pandemonium?"


    "Something along those lines."


    "Hm." Genevieve crossed her arms, and frowned to herself. "Well. It worked against Cornelius and his automatons, at least. And if she''s what pandemonium looks like, then perhaps pandemonium is what it would take to show this barren land a little bit of life."


    For a good long while Lenn just looked at Genevieve, considering her, or perhaps sizing her up. And then, finally, they said, "You may have a point." They shrugged again, more casually, with a hint of dry irony in their body language. "You''ll just have to make sure she doesn''t destroy herself in the process."


    "What does that mean?" Genevieve asked, cocking an eyebrow.


    "It means that you''re a charming young woman with a strong will and a sharp mind. There may not be anyone who can stop Marcie from picking a fight she believes is worth killing for, or dying over. But she''ll allow you to temper her decisions, if you talk to her about them."


    Before Genevieve could decide how to respond to that, the door opened and Marcie stepped through it, with the apologetic shuffle of someone uncomfortably aware they take up physical space in the world. "Ah¡­ hey. Sorry. You doin'' all right?"


    "I''m quite fine, thank you," Genevieve said, nodding politely.


    "That''s good, that''s good. Glad t''hear that." Marcie slunk across the room to sit on her cot. "You look nice."


    A smile crossed Genevieve''s face and she giggled. "Well, that I have to doubt. I''m sure I''m an absolute mess right now."


    "Less of a mess than you were in that big poofy thing." Marcie yawned and stretched out across her cot, laying herself out like a cat. "Y''look more comfortable. Less like you''re all lost and freaked out and stuff. And if nothin'' else, at least those are clothes meant for wearin'', not just for lookin'' at."


    "I don¡¯t think most people would look at it that way," Genevieve said, "but I suppose you''re right."


    "I do hope you''re more comfortable." Lenn stood from their seat and nodded to them both. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I have some work to get back to. Before you arrived I was busy sorting through my medical supplies, and it still needs to be done. I imagine you¡¯re tired from everything that¡¯s happened, so I would suggest getting some rest, if the mood takes you. I¡¯ll be around later with some food, as well.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Lenn,¡± Marcie said, kicking her feet up onto the short, thin footboard at the end of the cot.


    ¡°Thank you very much,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°I may take your advice. Glad as I am to talk, I think the day is beginning to take its toll on me.¡± She¡¯d been noticing it for a little while. Her limbs feeling heavier, her head swimming, losing focus. She needed to sleep. To sort through it all in her head.


    "I hope you have a good rest, then, Genevieve." Lenn left the room, and when the clunk of the heavy door closing behind them faded from the room, there was only silence.


    Genevieve let herself fall back onto the thin mattress beneath her with a soft sigh. As soon as she was lying down her energy absolutely vanished. Even the effort of putting a blanket over herself was troublesome. She didn''t fall asleep instantly, but once she shut her eyes she knew she wasn''t going to open them again any time soon.


    The sound of a creaking bedframe and rustling clothes came from the other side of the room. "Damn," Marcie said, quietly but more than loud enough in the quiet, echoing room. ¡°You really do look like you¡¯ve been worn right through.¡±


    "I feel something like a coil that''s been unwound." Genevieve sighed, exhausted, into the chilly air. "You could try to bend me back into shape, but all the tension is gone, and I will simply flop over."


    "Hrm," Marcie said, in her voice of deep consideration. "Is the tension bein'' gone a good thing, though?"


    "Perhaps." Genevieve nestled herself against the bed, rolling onto her side and tugging on the blanket so she could roll herself up in it. "I''m honestly not sure."


    "Ah." It sounded like Marcie was chewing that thought in her brain. "Well, I mean, speakin'' just for myself, and stuff. I think when you''re proper tired, it''s easy to feel like y''ain''t ever gonna be workin'' right again. And then once you get some rest and actually make a go at it, you realize you''re still good for a lot more than you thought. So¡­ yeah. I wouldn''t be gettin'' discouraged just yet. Exhaustion makes everything else feel even worse, y''know?"


    "It does," Genevieve acknowledged. She pulled the blanket around herself a little more tightly. "Thank you, Marcie."


    "Oh. Uh. Sure. Anytime." There was some more shuffling. "I''m, probably not gonna crash out all that soon. So, like, you know. If anything happens, or whatever, I''ll be on top of it. That''s a promise."


    "That''s good," Genevieve muttered in a low breath. "I appreciate that."


    If Marcie said anything in response, Genevieve passed out before she could hear it.

 Boardroom

    Genevieve woke groggy. She¡¯d slept like a rock, sinking to the endless bottom of a dark dreamless sea. But she couldn¡¯t say she felt rested. She was mostly just disoriented and hungry. Without any sunlight or outdoor bustling to rouse her, the only thing that dragged her awake was the pang of an empty stomach.


    ¡°Oh, hey.¡± Hearing Marcie¡¯s voice, Genevieve twisted around to look at the other cot. There was only a little light, but she could tell Marcie wasn¡¯t there, just her cloak tossed away and left to hang off the side of the mattress. Marcie hadn¡¯t gone far, though. She was sitting at a nearby desk, fiddling with one of her metal boxes under the dim glow of a lonely candle. She¡¯d turned to look at Genevieve, and her face was barely visible in the gloom. ¡°Good to see you¡¯re up.¡±


    It took Genevieve¡¯s brain a few seconds to catch up. The sanctuary, Lenn, her new set of clothes¡­ and passing out in this cot for Pulse knows how long. "Do you know what time it is?" she asked.


    "It''s probably around 8 or something?¡± The metal box made a pinging sound as Marcie slipped a bullet into it. Genevieve could just make out the shape of her tail curling around the box and placing it on the desk beside her. ¡°Normal morning time. You didn''t sleep all day or nothing. Ten, twelve hours maybe. Pretty reasonable after all that mess yesterday." The candlelight played off Marcie¡¯s scales as she tilted her head, a dim orange glow highlighting the edge of her finger while she scratched her chin.. "So. You know. If that''s why you''re asking, don''t worry about it. But, uh, you might justa been wondering what time it was, like, on the face of it. So in that case, uh, yeah, it¡¯s like 8 or something. I¡¯m pretty sure."


    "That''s all right," Genevieve said. Her head was aching and her body was exhausted. She didn¡¯t really want to be awake, but she was, and she just had to deal with it. "It''s helpful to know. Thank you, Marcie."


    "Yeah, well.¡± Marcie glanced away from Genevieve, and even without light Genevieve could recognize the bashful self-effacing pout she kept slipping into when she was thanked. "I''ve conked out hard a few times after getting knocked around too much. And when I wake up after I''m always freaking out like ''ah shit I was asleep forever how long was I out what year is it'' and stuff. So I just figured, like. You were probably wondering the same kinda thing."


    Marcie tucked her legs up and folded her arms on top of her knees. For a few moments, Genevieve watched her silhouette in the dim light. Her tail was hanging down below the chair, where it swayed gently back and forth, long and thin with that distinct spade shape at the very tip. Under the candle Genevieve could see Marcie¡¯s belt, her guns, and the pouches she carried around with her laid out on the desk. She¡¯d taken them off, but she hadn¡¯t let them out of sight or out of reach. It was diligent of her, Genevieve supposed, if she was telling the truth about all those explosives the day before. And she probably was.


    But what drew Genevieve¡¯s gaze the most was her eyes, shining in the dark with the flickering candle reflected in them. They were a dull amber color, golden light mixed with the dusty brown of Gryst''s arid soil. And there was something about the way they reflected the flame before them. Like it wasn¡¯t just the light of the candle Genevieve saw sparking in the deep black of her pupil.


    That wasn''t what captivated Genevieve, though. For everything else about her, her clumsy words and her agile body, the way she strode so casually through chaos, Marcie''s eyes were thoughtful. You could see her taking in the world around her and thinking deeply about it, and her thoughts played out honestly across her face. Perhaps that was why, even the day before, when she was fighting and shooting and putting on such an explosive display of gunpowder and violence, Genevieve found it so natural to trust her. She had little other choice, it was true, but it was hard to believe someone as awkwardly, unthinkingly genuine as Marcelle Silver could be hiding some nefarious secret. If she was anything other than what she claimed to be, she was doing a very poor job of being whatever that was.


    Marcie glanced over at Genevieve and hunched her shoulders defensively. "What''s up?" she asked, a little wary. "I got something in my teeth? My underwear showing? C''mon, spit it out."


    "Nothing like that at all," Genevieve reassured her. "I was just going to say¡­ you''re a very considerate person, Marcie. I wanted you to know I appreciate that."


    With a grumpy little grimace on her face, Marcie pulled up her hood and scrunched tighter around herself. "Why the hell would you go say something like that?" she grumbled.


    "Because it''s true," Genevieve said. She sat up straighter, finally coming out of her sleepy fog. "I don''t know what other people have said to you, or what you''ve been called elsewhere, but I think it''s something you should hear, now, from me." Genevieve turned to dangle her feet off the cot. "You seem reluctant to take a compliment. But I''m grateful for what you''ve done for me, and I want you to know that I believe you¡¯re a good person."


    Dropping her feet to the floor, Marcie leaned all the way forward in her chair. "Where is all this coming from, huh?" she asks. "You tryin'' to hype me up for somethin''?"


    "Of course not," Genevieve said. "I simply wanted to say what I felt."


    "Heh." Marcie shook her head. "You sound like my dad, y''know? Except he never talked about bein'' a good person. Always said it was more important to do good than be good. Cuz there''s a lot of good people in the world who don''t practice it. So yeah, I try to do good. But that doesn''t, like. Make me good."


    "What would possibly ''make you good'' other than doing good things?" Genevieve insisted.


    "Hrm." Marcie sat still for a long moment, looking down at the ground. "You don''t really get it," she said. "Which is fine. It''s not like I''m asking you to. Dad never got it either. S''just not part of who he is. But the world ain''t so fair about who gets to be good, and who''s gotta work for it. Who gets shut out of it." She shrugged and sat up straight again, slipping her hood back off her head. "Like I said, though. It''s fine. I always got the choice to do good. So I''m not about to fuss over whether I get to be good."


    ¡°You keep saying that,¡± Genevieve said, ¡°but I still don¡¯t know what you mean.¡±


    Marcie didn¡¯t give an answer. And before Genevieve could push any further, Lenn walked in through the doorway, carrying a couple of rough hand-made plates. "Good morning, both of you," they said.


    "Mornin'', Lenn." Marcie put her arm around the back of her chair while she turned her head to look at them.


    Lenn nodded and approached, handing both of them plates. "For each of you. There isn''t much, but it''s sustenance all the same."


    Genevieve looked down at her plate, which contained only a large chunk of fresh bread and a few strips of cured meat.


    "I did what I could with what I had on hand," Lenn said. "If I had known you were coming, I would have gone to fill my stocks yesterday. But it''s much too late for that now. The city''s locked down tightly. I couldn''t risk sticking my head out long enough to reach the market."


    "Is it that bad?" Genevieve asked, looking up from her plate.


    "Worse," Lenn said. "I''ve learned to prowl the streets when the Prince is making a show of force. He''s easily incensed. But I''ve never seen it like this before. He''s got his automata combing every corner of every road, alley, and domicile in the city trying to find you two. I''d put money down he''s asked his father for a deployment of spy machines from the capital, too."


    "So we gotta get outta here quick," Marcie said with a sigh. "And make a spectacle of it on our way out, so they don''t go all martial law on this place tryin'' to flush us out when we''re gone."


    "I assure you, Marcie, making a spectacle of it is the last thing you need to do," Lenn admonished.


    "Yeah? So we''re just gonna run away, let ''em flip this whole place upside-down, and whoever gets crushed in the process just ain''t our problem?" Marcie shook her head disdainfully. "Sorry, but I ain''t gonna do that."


    "You''re overestimating yourself and underestimating this city." Lenn was firm and solid, speaking in their most stern voice. "We''ve lived through all sorts of fits, and we''ll live through this one as well."


    "And what''re they gonna do when they find this place, huh Lenn? They''re gonna leave you alone just cuz I''m out of town? What about your patients?"


    "If¡­ I can say something," Genevieve interjected. She clasped her hands together in her lap and frowned deeply. "I don''t really like the idea of leaving everyone else here to Cornelius and his wolves. If my flight would put anyone else at risk, I would rather take on that risk myself."Stolen novel; please report.


    Lenn looked at Genevieve for a moment, and then shook their head. "I suppose some people are simply made for each other."


    Before she could say anything in turn, Genevieve''s stomach grumbled loudly. "Ah," she said, blushing just a little.


    "Go ahead and eat," Lenn said, waving their hand. "We have enough time to continue this discussion later. And to make sure that whatever you do, you at least have a plan. Marcie."


    Marcie took a break from the strip of jerky she¡¯d started gnawing on to stick her tongue out at them.


    "A little bit of food will help us think clearly," Genieve said. She bit eagerly into the bread. It was a little plain, but as hungry as she was, that really didn''t bother her much at all.


    Marcie seemed to relish the meat. Or maybe she just liked having something tough and chewy to work between her teeth. "Schowuz¨C" she started to say, but she stopped herself and swallowed before trying again. "So what''s the word on the street? How''re folks taking this whole mess we''ve got ourselves in?"


    "You realize I didn''t have much of a chance to go gathering intelligence for you," Lenn said dryly. "Besides, Marcie, be honest with yourself. You know exactly what story the Prince is telling. He doesn''t have an original bone in his body."


    "Yeah, I know. You''re right." Marcie sighed. "I was wondering if folks were buying into that, seein'' as so many of ''em saw what happened with their own eyes, but it''s not like that ever mattered."


    "People hold faith in their own eyes when they allow themselves to live in truth," Lenn said. "But our kings have made it easy to deceive each other and bend ourselves into false narratives. All the moreso when they are convenient."


    "Can''t be that hard to sell people on blue bitch stole my wife. They''re already picking that one up for six chips at the pulp stand." Marcie snatched the bread off her plate. "Maybe that''s why he''s so mad. Can''t stand the thought of ''his girl'' being ravaged by some nasty demon freak of nature." She rolled her eyes sarcastically and ripped off a chunk with her teeth. ¡°I mean you know he¡¯s gotta be some kinda puppy-torturing sadist behind closed doors,¡± she said, talking with her mouth full and lacking even an ounce of shame. ¡°But nah. It¡¯s me that¡¯s the freak.¡±


    Genevieve didn¡¯t comment on that. She politely chewed and swallowed the bite of bread in her mouth, trying to put the memories of Cornelius out of her mind. Then she glanced at Marcie and, looking to focus on something else, cocked an eyebrow at her. "Ravaged?"


    Marcie swallowed her food and wiped off her mouth. "Sorry. Didn''t mean to be crude. But you know how it is."


    ¡°You just don¡¯t seem like the ravaging type, Marcie.¡± Genevieve shook her head with a little smirk.


    ¡°That¡¯s cuz I¡¯m not!¡± Marcie protested. "I''m a, fuckin'', sensitive, compassionate¡­"


    She trailed off into irate grumbles as she realized what she had said.


    "See, Lenn?" Genevieve turned to them. "I told you she had a good heart."


    "Of course she does," Lenn said. They weren''t even playing into the bit, just stating it as a fact. "For all her faults, I can¡¯t deny her selflessness."


    "All I''ve done for the both of you, and this is how you thank me?" Marcie complained, tugging her hood over her head.


    "By remarking that you are kind and selfless?" Genevieve said, not quite done bullying her. "I''d think that is the very least we could possibly do."


    "All right, all right, I get it.¡± Marcie yanked off her hood with a surly expression. "Look, it''s whatever. I''m not bothered by what folks think of me. I just don''t, y''know, want you to think I''m some kinda great gal who can do no wrong. You''re just gonna get yourself disappointed that way."


    ¡°You think I am putting you on a pedestal, Marcie?¡± Lenn looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "That would be news to me."


    "It''s not that, Lenn. I''m just not about folks thinkin'' I''m somethin'' other than what I am. Good or bad. All I am is me. I don''t wanna be chopped up and stuffed in some box where I don''t fit."


    Genevieve looked down at her plate, chewing her bread, lost in thought. "I understand that," she said. "Quite well, in fact. So I can''t blame you for feeling that way. We can''t always choose how we''re presented to the world, or how the world decides to see us. But we do not have to accept the labels that are assigned to us."


    "Well¡­ yeah." Marcie looked at Lenn and gestured toward Genevieve. "There, see? All of that."


    "Still, if I can protest one thing," Genevieve added. "I apologize if I made you feel like I was putting you inside a box. I have no desire to do that. But I can''t apologize for describing positive qualities I have seen in you. You may be bashful about them, and they may not fit in with the version of yourself you want to project, but they are still a part of you. There is no need to deny them."


    Seemingly at a loss for words, Marcie pouted that cute pout again and tried her best to avoid Genevieve''s eyes.


    "She''s very kind to you, Marcie," Lenn said. "I''d keep her close if I were you."


    "Look, hey, I''m not going anywhere, all right?" Marcie set down her empty plate and stood, eager to take her leave. "We''re gonna have to get out of this city sooner than later, an'' I''m not about to let a lady wander off into the wastes by herself. So at least for the next good bit here, me an'' Jen are sticking together."


    "I appreciate that," Genevieve said. "I won¡¯t deny I¡¯m worried about what is going to happen from here. But it is a relief, knowing I¡¯ll have a friendly face with me, one way or the other."


    "Marcie, where are you going?" Lenn asked, abruptly changing the topic.


    "Just, like, down the hall a bit. Wherever that little workshop you had is. You said I needed to have an exit strategy and junk and it¡¯s not like we can just chill out here forever so I''m gonna¡­ you know." She slipped a bullet out from under her cloak and shook it as if to demonstrate that yes, it was in fact there, in between her fingers. "Exit strategy."


    "You know that''s not what I meant when I said that, right?" Lenn griped. "But I wasn''t exactly expecting anything different. You know what your skills are, Marcie. So if that''s all you want to do, then just be ready when Miss Genevieve here has something to point you at."


    "Aye aye," Marcie said. She rolled the bullet between her fingers and stowed it away with a flick of her wrist. "Sounds like a plan to me."


    "It really isn''t," Lenn said. "It''s not a plan." But Marcie ignored them and strolled out of the room, muttering to herself about ammo counts and powder loads.


    "Well, whatever you need her to shoot, I can promise you she''ll be up to the task," Lenn said to Genevieve, running their hand through their hair. "But she''s used to waltzing through trouble and letting things sort themselves out. I wouldn''t count on the devil''s luck extending to you."


    "I don''t expect it to." Genevieve''s gaze lingered on the doorway Marcie just left through. "But what should I count on, then? What do I do?"


    "You can count on yourself. And you can count on Marcie. I give her a hard time, but she''s as reliable as they come. And though my means are limited, I have allies in the city who will do what they can." Lenn walked to a desk in the room and fished out a well-used notebook and a pencil. They sat at the desk and turned to face Genevieve, twiddling the pencil between their thumb and forefinger. "As for what to do, I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to decide on that for yourself. I hope you are more of a planner than Marcie. It would be hard not to be. But if you don''t want to bet your fortune entirely on Marcie blowing apart hundreds of automatons and marching you out of the city by force, the two of us will have to come up with another strategy."


    "All right." Genevieve stood up off the table, groaning a bit as she realized how stiff her legs were, and made her way over to Lenn, still holding her plate with a few strips of cured meat left. "This is my problem to solve. And even if I can''t solve it on my own, I will do all that I can."


    Genevieve ripped off a chunk of jerky. By the time she was done chewing it, her determination had already begun to falter. ¡°Though I¡¯d be lying if I said I had much to offer physically. If the earth here had magic for me to draw on, it might be a different story, but in a place this dry I fear I¡¯m next to useless.¡±


    ¡°I imagine it must be quite the shock,¡± Lenn said. Their voice was level, and they were contemplating something, though Jen couldn¡¯t tell what. ¡°What was it like? Having the Pulse at your fingertips, vibrant as life itself?¡±


    ¡°To be honest,¡± Genevieve said, ¡°I can better describe its absence.¡± She sighed and set her plate down atop an open desk. ¡°Some of my earliest memories are of learning to channel the Pulse. My instructors said I had a knack for it, though I think they would have said that whether it was true or not. Calling to the earth for aid was second nature to me. But here I only find that ghastly silence.¡± Genevieve glanced at her food, and stepped away from it. Talking about this killed her appetite. ¡°It¡¯s almost like I¡¯ve lost a limb. There¡¯s this part of me, this way I used to interact with the world, that¡¯s just¡­ gone.¡±


    Lenn listened quietly, and nodded their head. ¡°I am sorry we cannot give you that back,¡± they said. ¡°But I may be able to get you a small reserve. A few spare flecks, to help you in a pinch. Nothing like the bounty you knew.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t what Genevieve expected to hear. ¡°Can you really do that?¡±


    ¡°If I can find a merchant still trading under lockdown,¡± Lenn answered. ¡°Do not worry. I will make it happen. In exchange, though, I will need you to change your perspective. You do not have the tools you are used to. Instead of lamenting their absence, look to the tools you do have, and do not let them go to waste.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± Genevieve took a slow breath. ¡°I will agree to those terms.¡± She picked up a chair and sat it near Lenn''s, taking a seat next to them. "You said that you had allies in the city?" she asked. Better to try something than to give up. No matter how hopeless it seemed. "Marcie and I can¡¯t defuse the situation here on our own. I don¡¯t want to drag more people into this mess, but we may not have a choice."


    ¡°The choice has been made for us. That is unfortunate, but there is only one person to blame for it, and he is not in this room." Lenn opened to an empty page of their notebook and began noting down aliases and, with very deliberate vagueness, potential resources. "As for my allies, there are other followers of the True Pulse. And I remain connected with a number of former patients. I also know more than a few individuals who will be looking for a chance to get out of Fogard quickly, with the way things now stand. I am sure at least some will be willing to aid us, particularly if it''s to convince the Prince to turn his gaze back out past the city, rather than within its walls."


    While Lenn wrote, Genevieve scooted in closer to see what they were putting down. They shifted a bit to give her a better look, and she stared at the page of notes thoughtfully, putting pieces together in her head, one by one. She asked for a few clarifications about the things Lenn had written down, and the code phrases they used, but over time she started to see the larger picture.


    It wasn¡¯t much to work with. Maybe two dozen people across the city who owed Lenn a favor. Some were shop owners, some family men and laborers, and more than a few Lenn simply noted for their skills without any further elaboration. Though Genevieve got the implication well enough. Still, if those skills were reliable, and if they could put just a few helpful hands in exactly the right places¡­


    ¡°Okay,¡± Genevieve said, after much consideration. ¡°It will be a challenge. But I may have something like an idea.¡±

 On Parade

    Barley Street was the largest thoroughfare in northern Fogard, a gritty but well-trafficked dirt road occupied by a variety of small shops. Where the main road to the south had larger stores that sold the most common staples, Barley Street was known for its obscurities. The stalls there sold everything from curios purporting to come from lost ruins beneath the badlands or forgotten temples deep in the northern tundra to pulp novels imported from kingdoms across the continent and elaborate hand-made novelty sweets. Normally it was a bustling street that did brisk business, and even now with the city under heavy watch there were small crowds gathered across its length. Instead of shopping, though, the pedestrians were waiting at checkpoints manned by the city¡¯s guards, waiting for someone to look them over and let them through.


    They didn''t have much choice. It was difficult to move through the north side of the city without passing through Barley Street at some point, so naturally it was one of the most tightly controlled streets in the city. Automaton guards were posted in front of every side road, preventing anyone from leaving the area until one of the human guardsmen¨Cwho were much better at identifying faces, seeing as they had their own¨Ccould verify they weren''t either of the people Cornelius was turning the city over to find.


    Even with their best efforts, it was easy to slip through the cracks if you knew how to move through the city. And that¡¯s what everyone gathered at the rendezvous point had done, sneaking past the checkpoints over roofs, through back doors and windows furtively opened by willing associates, or by simply walking through and avoiding the guards¡¯ scrutiny. Each of them were dressed in long, form-concealing robes, and they didn¡¯t waste time talking once they were all gathered.


    They had slipped in undetected, but they were never going to remain that way once they began marching in formation, five of them in a circle surrounding the sixth, large, heavy cloth hoods up over their heads, faces hidden from view. And sure enough, it was only a few minutes after the start of their march when a guard barked out an order and the group was boxed in by a squad of four automatons. Their human handler, a short, squat man in a uniform only slightly redder than his face, circled cautiously. He thought himself a shark, but he was closer to a little yappy dog, teeth bared and back arched in a vain attempt to hide his fear. Once it became clear they weren¡¯t going to do anything until he did, he stopped in front of the group and stepped forward, one hand firmly gripping the heavy pistol at his waist.


    "What the hell is this?" he demanded. "Whatever this demonstration is supposed to be, you folks have chosen a real bad time for it."


    Nobody responded. The leader of the group, a tall and slender figure, stepped forward. They looked down at the guard, and slowly took off their hood, revealing a face covered by a crude, red devil mask, with sharp teeth and six horns, hand-crafted out of paper and paste.


    The guard stepped back, slowly removing his pistol from its holster. ¡°Okay, freakshow, I¡¯m not playing your game. All of you get on the ground or I tell the robots to pounce."


    Before he could make good on his threats, the smallest robed figure, the one in the center, yelled and burst forward, freeing herself from the crowd and barreling past the tall figure in the red mask. "Officer, officer, please!" she yelled. "You have to save me!"


    She stumbled and tripped and fell onto her knees in front of the guard, face turned down towards the ground. His eyes went wide with surprise and he hesitated, his brain not yet caught up to what was before him. But soon he raised his pistol, hands shaking with nerves, to level it at the demon-masked figure before him.


    Blam.


    Before the guard could aim his gun, a shot rang out from the back. Marcie ripped her robes off with her claw as an automaton guard fell before her. The four cloaked figures still standing made a break for it all at once, charging off while Marcie whipped around, drawing her second gun, and shot down two of the other automatons who were turning around to give chase..


    "Shit," the human guard cursed, dropping down to his knees to make a smaller target. "It''s her!" But then the dots in his head began to connect, and he turned his attention to the woman on her knees in front of him, who he was all but hiding behind. "Princess?"


    He reached out and pulled back her hood, revealing a stocky, dark-haired, middle-aged woman who trembled ever so slightly in fear. "I don''t know what happened," she began to recite, "these men grabbed me and tied me up¨C"


    But the guard pushed her aside and scrambled to his feet. He raised his pistol once more, whipping it around in every direction as he tried to get a bead on the four robed figures dashing away in four different directions. "P-Princess Genevieve!" he called out, running forward recklessly, blinded by the visions of promotion he saw in that brief moment where he thought he had found her, and the punishments he knew were coming once she slipped through his fingers.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Once his back was turned to her, the woman ran off as well, discarding her robe and vanishing into a group of fleeing passersby who wanted nothing to do with any of this.


    The commotion had already drawn the attention of every guard on the street, human and automaton. All of the automatons charged away from their posts to swarm Marcie, who was already retreating to higher ground, towards a building with a low roof and a set of awnings she could easily scale. Her gunshots rang out across the city as she knocked the automatons down one by one, steadily slowing the tide as they advanced ever forward, waves crashing closer and closer. Some of the human guards tried to chase after the runners, but their patrols were well spaced out. Only the closest even realized there were other people to chase, and they were still too far to have any hope of catching them.


    The next step of the plan worried Genevieve the most. She hadn''t been around the city, and she had no idea what the layout of the streets would be like. One of the others was supposed to loop around and link up with her, but they hadn''t made it quite as far as they hoped, and they were a few streets off the planned route. All she could do was keep running and hope they could adjust and find her.


    Mercifully, the robes were easier to run in than the dress had been, though Genevieve still found herself lifting up the front to keep herself from tripping over it. She ran down the street she had chosen, past beat-up homes and makeshift stalls where small-time merchants sold whatever food would keep in the badlands heat. It must have been a strange sight for the residents, watching a madwoman in a long robe and a mask running erratically through town. She caught bewildered stares from the few people who were still outside despite the gunshots coming from Barley Street. They must have been wondering what was happening, and Genevieve¡¯s mad dash surely only made things more confusing. That was the point, in a way. Cornelius would figure out what happened eventually, but a little bit of chaos and uncertainty just might buy them enough time to escape.


    Genevieve did her best to keep pace, keep her breathing steady, and keep going, but after a few minutes of running she was fully out of breath. Her chest ached in protest, so overworked that adrenaline wasn¡¯t making the difference anymore. She gradually slowed to a walk, and then stopped in the street with her hands on her knees. Her legs were shaking too much to continue.


    Since she was already stopped, she took a moment to pull the wax plugs from her ears and slip them away in a pocket. Marcie shouldn''t have to do her thing anywhere near her now, and it was better that Genevieve be able to hear the clanking footsteps of approaching automatons, just in case.


    While Genevieve was catching her breath, a scraggly young man carting a wheelbarrow full of grain put down his cargo and approached her. "Excuse me," he called out as he came near. "Did you come from Barley Street? Do you know what''s happening up there?"


    She didn''t try to voice an answer. She just turned her head towards him, and looked at him through the eye holes in her mask.


    The young man took a step back, shock and confusion written across his face. Genevieve knew that meant it was time to start running again, no matter how much her body protested. She took off once more, as fast as she could manage. Which wasn¡¯t much more than a jog by now.


    "Okay, then," she heard him muttering behind her. "So nothing good." He returned to his wheelbarrow and cast his eyes back up the road, an indecisive frown on his face.


    Wherever he was supposed to be going, it wasn''t Genevieve''s problem. Her problem was where she was supposed to be going, and with every step she took, the fact that she didn''t know became a more pressing issue. For all she knew, she had completely overshot the route, and every step was taking her further and further away from her destination. There was no sign of the one designated to guide her, so for all she knew he had lost track of her, or decided to go ahead on his own without her. She wondered if it wasn''t a better idea to turn and get closer to her original route, but she had no idea if the roads would actually take her along the same path. Trying to get un-lost might only get her more lost, and everything would go to waste if she wound up captured in the wrong part of the city because she couldn''t keep a map in her head properly.


    She was so busy worrying she missed her opportunity that she almost did miss the robed arm sticking out from behind a building up ahead and waving at her. Wasting no time, she rounded the corner to find one of the other members of the procession, a wiry, muscular man with tanned skin and a purple mask. ¡°There you are,¡± he said in his gruff voice. "If I knew you were gonna be this slow, I woulda moved further up the road."


    "I''m¡­ very sorry," Genevieve panted between breaths. "I ran as much as I could¡­ but I got winded."


    "Ah, whatever. It''s fine." Two gunshots rang out from the roofs above them. "Demon girl''s buying us plenty of time. If I thought we were in trouble, believe me, I''d be giving you hell for it. But there''s no sense throwing out an egg that ain''t been cracked yet."


    Genevieve bent over and put her hands on her knees, trying to breathe deeply. Perhaps if she could just take in more air her limbs would stop screaming so loudly. "Am I¡­ the egg, or¡­?"


    "Don''t think about the metaphor too much, kid." He slapped her on the back and then tried to pull her up onto her feet again. ¡°C¡¯mon, we¡¯re gonna go, so let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll take it easy so you can follow, but I really wanna get out of this dump, and if you¡¯re slowing me down, that¡¯s on you.¡±


    ¡°All right, all right,¡± Genevieve said, waving off his grip and standing herself up straight, steeling her body for another sprint. ¡°I understand. We¡¯re¨Cwe¡¯re getting out of this place. I want that too.¡±


    ¡°So long as we¡¯re on the same page, girlie.¡± He clapped her shoulders and then turned to run. ¡°It¡¯s a few streets over still. Stay with me and you¡¯ll be just fine.¡±

 Sprint

    Their destination was only a few streets away, but by the time they reached the first intersection Genevieve was truly floundering. The street before her, the gunshots in the distance, her guide¡¯s shouts for her to keep up, all fell away one by one until nothing was left but her shoes on the dirt. Her heart threatening to burst, her arms and legs burning, her lungs gasping desperately. Was she really this out of shape? She thought she was reasonably fit, even if she wasn¡¯t quite an athlete. But every day she hadn¡¯t spent running was catching up to her, bowling her over, sucking away the air until she was certain she would collapse.


    The world crashed back into existence when she heard the man call out, ¡°there''s the bastard!¡± Shocked out of her exhausted spiral, Genevieve had to look past the road directly ahead of her, and sure enough, waiting up ahead beneath the wide awning of a storehouse was a covered cart, with two fussy horses hitched to its front.


    Even with the end in sight, the distance left to cross seemed far too much for Genevieve''s failing, flailing body. But she kept moving one stride at a time, putting whatever she had left into this dash to the end.


    As they approached the cart, the driver¨Ca skinny woman with dark brown skin, wearing long cotton pants and a loose white blouse¨Chopped into her seat and hung a red paper devil mask around her neck. A tall, broad, heavyset redhead with a blue paper mask hanging off her leather coat leaned out and waved manically for them to join her. "Hurry up, asshole!" she shouted.


    "Don''t I look like I''m fucking running?" the purple-masked man barked back at her. He sprinted ahead and jumped into the back of the cart, holding onto the side and swinging himself around to watch Genevieve chasing after him and lagging well behind. "C''mon, girl, you gotta beat it!"


    Staggering to the finish line, Genevieve stumbled and all but fell into the cart, dragging herself into the back as a pile of limbs. The cart had open floor space by the back entrance, but most of it was taken up by stacks of cargo crates lashed in place. With everything aching and her vision going dark, Genevieve ripped the white paper devil mask off her face and tossed it aside, then slumped face-down on the floor. It was all she could do not to pass out, let alone move another inch.


    ¡°All right, catch your breath, the hard part¡¯s over,¡± the large woman said, her voice husky and indelicate. ¡°Unless the next part ends up bein¡¯ hard, that is.¡± She banged on a crate and yelled toward the front, ¡°Sammy, let¡¯s get goin¡¯!¡±


    ¡°First off, it¡¯s Samara. You don¡¯t know me like that.¡± The driver, Samara, leaned backwards to shoot the other woman an unamused look. ¡°And give the boys a second. They¡¯re a couple of stubborn mules.¡±


    ¡°Thought they were horses,¡± the large woman muttered. She took a few steps and stood above Genevieve¡¯s prone form. "Damn, were you tryin'' to kill her or something?" She gently tapped Genevieve''s limp body with the cold, heavy steel toe of her boot. "You''re alive, right?"


    Genevieve groaned in consternation, alive enough to make a sound but not nearly enough to form words. Closing her eyes and falling asleep on the floor of the cart was far more tempting than it should have been.


    ¡°That¡¯s good, then. Seem like a real pointless waste of all that effort if you went and croaked on the floor.¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t that bad,¡± the man protested. "She''s young ''n'' healthy, it''s good for her t''push herself. Means she''ll have more stamina next time."


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a generous son of a bitch,¡± the woman said with a mean-spirited snicker. ¡°Here I was thinking you just liked gettin¡¯ the chance to yell at a royal.¡±


    ¡°Eh, well, I thought I would. She doesn¡¯t look so royal right now, though, so I kinda feel bad about it.¡±


    Another set of gunshots rang out in the distance, and Samara finally managed to persuade the horses. They whinnied irately, and the cart began to creep forward at a slow trot.


    A cavalcade of footsteps quickly approached, followed by a lot of shouting.


    ¡°Ah, shit,¡± the large woman swore, and she banged on the cargo again. ¡°I told you to get it movin¡¯, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°Start runnin¡¯, you lazy assholes!¡± Samara screamed, and the horses responded by kicking up into an easy, lackadaisical stride, petulantly unhurried.


    More gunshots rang out, close this time, and Genevieve reflexively jumped, curling herself into a ball and trying to shrink so that stray rounds wouldn¡¯t hit her. The man and woman in the back with her cursed and shrunk themselves down too, and though the bullets only managed to hit a few of the crates, the gunfire was plenty of motivation for the horses to break into a full gallop.


    The cart jerked forward suddenly, sliding the passengers about the back and earning another round of swears, but once the momentum caught up and they were on the move, the horses¡¯ breakneck speed was a relief.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you worry back there,¡± Samara called from the front. ¡°We¡¯ll outrun ¡®em, no troubles.¡±


    ¡°Better hang onto something, ladies,¡± the masked man said dryly. ¡°Ride¡¯s gonna get bumpy.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off, dickhead,¡± the large woman growled.


    But Genevieve just grabbed onto a length of rope being used to lash the cargo together, and gripped it until her knuckles turned white. "This is a stupid plan," she said to herself in a daze. ¡°Why did I think this was a good plan?" The cart took a wide turn, tipping to the side but still remaining upright, and as the wheels smacked back against the ground the shouts of the guards started fading into the distance.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "Don''t be so down on yourself,¡± the large woman said, leaning back against the side of the cart nonchalantly. ¡°Every plan is stupid. And some of ''em work anyway."


    ¡°So you finally admit your plans are stupid?¡± the man said, taking off his mask and tossing it aside to reveal scruffy black facial hair and a shit-eating grin.


    ¡°Not as stupid as yours,¡± the woman fires back. ¡°At least I¡¯m not throwin¡¯ out schemes that¡¯re even dumber than everyone else¡¯s and convincin¡¯ myself they¡¯re brilliant.¡±


    ¡°¡®Every plan is stupid¡¯ is a sentence that could only come out of the mouth of someone with stupid plans.¡±


    ¡°An¡¯ the only person who¡¯d say different is a dumbass who likes t¡¯ think he¡¯s smart.¡±


    Even though she was finally, finally starting to catch her breath, just the tiniest bit, Genevieve was also getting a headache.


    The cart sped forward through uncomfortably narrow streets, making sharp turns Genevieve was sure would get their cart smashed into a building. She braced for impact each time, but the worst that came was a tiny bump when they hit a table someone had set out in front of their house. And after just a few harrowing turns, they broke out from the small side streets onto a wide open road. The main road through the city. Any other time it would have been bustling with traffic. With the city closed up and the walls so near, it was dead empty.


    Two automaton guards, who must have been sent to the gates just moments ago, were ahead of them, acting mindlessly on orders to move up and join the rest of the force. And at the end of the road, not so far now and rapidly getting closer, was the southernmost gate out of the city. There were only a handful of regular human guardsmen posted there, acting as a deterrent to anyone trying to escape while the city was still locked down. Genevieve had gambled on Marcie drawing the guards away, hoping that by the time anyone realized she was racing out of the city it would be too late for them to regroup by the gate. And with the pair of automatons racing ahead, she¡¯d been proven right. The skeleton crew left behind weren¡¯t anything near enough to stop a determined group of people willing to force their way through.


    Samara shouted and cracked the reins, driving the horses faster, past the automatons, urging them to keep charging. Even if that meant barrelling right on through the three unprepared soldiers panicking up ahead. The man with the purple mask and his wide-set friend each grabbed the makeshift muskets that Marcie had prepared for them and climbed over the stacks of cargo. They leaned over the crates and poked their heads out the front of the cart, hollering as loud as they could. They took aim, though not particularly carefully, and fired at the guards.


    Neither of them came close to hitting anything, but the threat of it was more than enough to send the guards fleeing, quite reasonably convinced there was no point holding their ground. The cart barreled wildly through the gate, the horses whinnying in protest as they smashed through the flimsy wooden barrier set up in front of it, and they sped down the path into badlands surrounding the city. The driver tossed the mask she was wearing off the cart behind her, letting it drift and fall onto the dirt road, conspicuous evidence of their escape.


    After a minute¡¯s run, the driver pulled the horses off the side of the road, and made a long circle back around to the city. She had them come to a stop alongside the wall, at the agreed-upon meeting point, and Genevieve let out the breath she had been holding. It was oddly still, once the horses settled, but the regular popping sounds echoing out over the city walls were a constant reminder that things weren¡¯t finished quite yet.


    The purple-masked man and the woman both busied themselves loading their muskets, a difficult task that neither of them had particularly mastered. While they were at it, Genevieve slowly picked herself up off the floor and made sure she could still walk. Once she was certain she had recovered enough to be approximately functional, she dragged herself out of the cart and circled around to the front. She acknowledged Samara with an exhausted wave of her hand and went straight to check on the horses. They were a little stompy and agitated after all the commotion, so Genevieve reached out to gently pet their heads. ¡°All right, now,¡± she muttered in a soft, reassuring voice. ¡°You¡¯ll be all right.¡±


    ¡°They should be fine, miss,¡± Samara called down to her. ¡°They¡¯re a coupla brats, but they¡¯re sturdy boys. Just get a kick out of complaining is all.¡±


    ¡°I still want to make sure they aren¡¯t hurt,¡± Genevieve said, and she kneeled down to get a better look at their front sides.


    Samara decided to play along and snapped the reins. ¡°Hey, calm yer fetlocks,¡± she said sharply. ¡°Let the lady have a look.¡±


    Once the horses reluctantly complied, Genevieve was able to see that both of them had a few cuts on their forearms and shoulders from smashing through the barrier. They didn¡¯t seem to be serious, but she still felt bad about them. It was wrong to leave a good turn unanswered, so after giving her still-racing heart another moment to calm down she took in a deep breath, welled up her concentration, and dragged a little shred of magic out of the charm Lenn had offered her before she left. It was a small, thin metal symbol on a leather strap around her neck, depicting a set of interlocking circles with fine crystal inlays that shimmered faintly in the light. If you looked very, very closely, you could see the little flecks of magic flitting about within. It was a valuable trinket, with how rare it was to find the hum of life running free in Gryst, but Lenn insisted it was less valuable than one would think. That very scarcity meant few people in Gryst would even attempt to learn to harness it, so Lenn thought it was best for Genevieve to have it, so long as she promised to do some good with it.


    Healing the horses probably did more good for Genevieve¡¯s conscience than for the world at large, she knew that. But she only needed to skim a little magic off the top for it, and there was no sense risking the injuries getting worse later on when she could simply heal them instead. So she passed her hand over each horse in turn, and they whinnied and stomped in place for a few moments before finally settling down. It was hard to tell if they knew they had been healed or not, but Genevieve hoped they appreciated it.


    She looked up to Samara and nodded. ¡°They were a little scratched up, I¡¯m afraid. Nothing major, but I closed up the wounds just to be safe.¡±


    ¡°Huh,¡± Samara said. ¡°Well, all right then.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna complain about that. Thank y¡¯kindly, Princess.¡±


    ¡°I might just go with Jen for now,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°Don¡¯t need to attract undue attention, right?¡±


    Samara nodded. ¡°Sure. Whatever you say.¡± She glanced over her shoulder at the tall city wall. ¡°Hey, just so you know, I don¡¯t intend to stick around here and be a sitting duck for too long. Devil girl better make it quick, if she plans to be on board.¡±


    A long series of pops sounded off in quick succession.


    ¡°It¡­ sounds like she¡¯s working on it,¡± Genevieve said. ¡°And quick is a specialty of hers. I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t be long.¡±


    ¡°Better not be, for her sake. I¡¯m not ashamed to say I spook easily, so if I feel like I gotta go, I am gonna go.¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Genevieve made her way around the cart to climb up into the back, her lips curled into a small frown.